"  Who  goes  there  !  " 


WHO  GOES  THERE! 


BY 

ROBERT  W.   CHAMBERS 


WITH  ILLUSTRATIONS  BY 
A.  I.  KELLER 


D.    APPLETON    AND    COMPANY 

NEW  YORK  AND  LONDON 

1915 


COPYRIGHT,  1915,  BY 
ROBERT  W.  CHAMBERS 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


To 
J.   HAMBLEN  SEARS 

Joseph!    I've  known  you  now  for  many  years; 

You  are  the  Hero  of  this  pretty  story; 
In  him  your  every  virtue  reappears 

Lighting  his  way  along  the  road  to  glory. 

All  you  possess  adorns   this  Hero  gay, 

Your  fatal  beauty,  curly  hair,  and  so  forth; 

Like  you  he's  always  ready,  night  or  day, 

To  pack  his  doggy  clothes  and  ties  and  go  forth. 

No  winsome  maid  beneath  a  summer  sky, 
Innured  to  prudence,  modesty,  and  duty 

Would  dare  demur  or  hesitate  to  fly 
With  such  a  manly  specimen  of  beauty. 

Accept,  my  friend,  this  tribute  to  your  worth 
As  publisher,  explorer,  lover,  fighter, 

For  men  like  you  were  destined  from  their  birth 
To  make  a  millionaire  of  any  writer. 

R.  W.  C. 


M221426 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 

Not  with  indifferent  or  with  flippant  hand 
Draw  the  curtain's  corner  to  disclose 

A  rose,  a  leaf,  a  path  through  this  sad  land 
Untrampled   yet    by   foes. 

Out  of  the  Past — the  Heart's  last  Hermitage — 

A  wistful  Phantom  glides  to  me  again 
Here  where  I  pace  that  solitary  cage 

They  call,  The  World  of  Men. 
In  vain  she  mirrors  me  the  Golden  Age; 

Vain  is  her  Voice  of  Spring  in  wood  and  glen; 
The  winter  sunlight  falls   across   my   page 

Gilding  a  broken  pen. 

Withered  the  magic  gardens  which  were  mine; 

Eden,  in  embers,  blackens  in  the  sun; 
Rooting  amid  crushed  roses  the  Wild  Swine 

Still  root,  and  spare  not  one. 

Village  and  spire  and  scented  forest  path, 

Pastures  and  brooks,  meadows  and  hills  and  fens 
Heard  not  the  secret  whispering  in  Gath 

There  where  the  Gray  Boar  dens, 
Till  burst  his  dreadful  clamour  on  the  Rhine 

And  all  the  World  shrank  deafened  by  the  roar 
Aghast  before  the  out-rush  of  Wild  Swine 

Led  by  the  great  Gray  Boar. 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Fallen  the  cloud-capped  castles  which  were  mine; 

Cities  in  ashes  whiten  in  the  sun; 
Rending  the  ruined  shrines,  the  Rhenish  Swine 

Still  rend,  and  spare  not  one. 


PREFACE 

The  Crown  Prince  is  partly  right;  the  majority  in  the 
world  is  against  him  and  what  he  stands  for ;  but  not  against 
Germany  and  the  Germans. 

He  professes  surprise  at  the  attitude  of  the  United  States. 
That  attitude  is  the  natural  result  of  various  causes  among 
which  are  the  following: 

Distrust  of  any  aggressor  by  a  nation  inclined  toward 
peace. 

Disgust  at  the  "scrap  of  paper"  episode. 

Resentment  at  the  invasion  of  Belgium. 

Contempt  for  the  Imperial  Government  which  is  indus 
triously  screwing  the  last  penny  of  "indemnity"  out  of  a 
ruined  nation,  which  the  people  of  the  United  States  are 
taxing  their  private  means  to  keep  from  starvation. 

Further  back  there  are  other  reasons. 

For  thirty  years  the  press  of  Germany  has  seldom  missed 
an  opportunity  to  express  its  contempt  for  Americans.  Any 
American  who  has  ever  lived  in  Germany  or  who  has  read 
German  newspapers  during  the  last  thirty  years  is  aware 
of  the  tone  of  the  German  press  concerning  America  and 
Americans.  No  innuendoes  have  been  too  vulgar,  no  sneers 
too  brutal  for  the  editors  of  these  papers,  and,  presumably 
for  the  readers. 

vii 


PREFACE 


Also  Americans  do  not  forget  the  attitude  of  the  Imperial 
Government  during  the  Spanish  war.  The  bad  manners  of 
a  German  Admiral  are  bearing  fruit. 

Imperialism  we  Americans  do  not  understand,  but  it 
need  not  make  us  unfriendly  to  empires. 

But  we  do  understand  when  manners  are  bad,  or  when 
a  military  caste,  which  maintains  its  traditions  of  per 
sonal  honour  by  violence,  becomes  arrogant  to  the  point  of 
brutality. 

A  false  notion  of  personal  honour  is  alone  enough  to  pre 
vent  a  sympathetic  understanding  between  two  peoples. 

America  is  not  an  enemy  to  Germany,  only  is  it  inex 
orably  opposed  to  any  Government  which  breaks  faith; 
and  which  enthrones  above  all  other  gods  the  god  of 
violence. 

For  the  German  soldiers  who  are  dying  in  this  Hohen- 
zollern-Hapsburg  war  we  have  only  sympathy  and  pity. 
We  know  they  are  as  brave  as  any  soldiers;  that  cruelty  in 
the  German  Army  is  in  no  greater  proportion  than  it  is  in 
any  army. 

But  also  we  know  that  the  cause  of  Imperial  Germany  is 
wrong;  her  civilization  is  founded  on  propositions  impos 
sible  for  any  American  to  accept;  her  aims,  ambitions,  and 
ideals  antagonistic  to  the  progress  to  communal  and  indi 
vidual  liberty  as  we  understand  the  terms.  And  that  settles 
the  matter  for  us. 


CONTENTS 


I.  IN  THE  MIST 1 

II.  THE  MAN  IN  GREY .        9 

III.  TIPPERARY 26 

IV.  BAD  DREAMS 37 

V.  KAREN .      .      46 

VI.  MR.  AND   MRS 62 

VII.  THE  SATCHEL  .      . .      .      83 

VIII.  AT  SEA  .      '.      . .      .      91 

IX.  H.   M.  S.  WYVERN      .      .      .      .      .      .      .106 

X.  FORCE     .... 115 

XI.  STRATEGY .136 

XII.  IN  THE  RAIN 150 

XIII.  THE  DAY  OF  WRATH 170 

XIV.  HER  ENEMY •.      .    174 

XV.  IN  CONFIDENCE 176 

XVI.  THE   FOREST   LISTENS        .      .      .      .      .      .    196 

XVII.  HER  FIRST  CAMPAIGN        ......    217 

XVIII.  LESSE  FOREST 226 

XIX.  THE   LIAR    .  .    248 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER 

XX 

PAGE 

057 

XXI 

271 

XXII. 
XXIII 

DRIVEN  GAME  . 

288 

XXIV. 
XXV 

A  PERSONAL  AFFAIR    . 
WHO  GOES  THERE  '      . 

315 
326 

XXVI. 

AMICUS  DEI 

.   338 

LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS 


FACING 
PAGE 


"  Who  goes  there  !  " Frontispiece 

"'If  you'll  say  you'll  do  it,  ...   I'll  not  have   those 

men  shot'"    .      ..      .      .      ....      .      .      .      .      20 

"There  came  a  light,  soft  touch  on  his  ring-finger"      .      52 

"The    chauffeur   hit   him   .    .    .    two   heavy,    merciless 

blows,  hurling  him  senseless  across  the  stairs  "        .      68 

" '  Kervyn  !     Kervyn — Think  what  you  are  doing ! — '  "  .    1 20 

"  Standing  so  beside  the  pool,  breathing  the  incense  of 

the  roses,  she  thought  of  the  dream"      ....    276 

"The  Pulpit  resounded  with  the  rifle-fire  of  its  little 

garrison  " 296 

"The  impact  hurled  von  Reiter  against  the  table  "  .       .    318 

"And  last  of  all  came  Karen  with  Guild  on  foot  beside 

her"  .    336 


WHO  GOES  THERE! 


CHAPTER    I 

IN    THE    MIST 

THEY  had  selected  for  their  business  the  outer 
face  of  an  old  garden  wall.  There  were  red 
tiles  on  the  coping-;  dusty  roadside  vines  half 
covered  the  base.  Where  plaster  had  peeled  off  a  few 
weather-beaten  bricks  showed.  Bees  hummed  in  the 
trampled  herbage. 

Against  this  wall  they  backed  the  first  six  men.  One, 
a  mere  boy,  was  crying,  wiping  his  frightened  eyes  on 
his  shirt-sleeve. 

The  dry  crash  of  the  volley  ended  the  matter ;  all  the 
men  against  the  wall  collapsed.  Presently  one  of  them, 
the  boy  who  had  been  crying,  moved  his  arm  in  the  grass. 
A  rifle  spoke  instantly,  and  he  moved  no  more. 

There  came  a  low-spoken  word  of  command,  the  fir 
ing  squad  shouldered  rifles,  wheeled,  and  moved  off; 
and  out  of  the  sea-grey  masses  of  infantry  another 
squad  of  execution  came  marching  up,  smartly. 

A  dozen  men,  some  in  sabots,  trousers,  and  dirty  col- 
larless  shirts,  some  in  well-cut  business  suits  and  straw 
hats,  and  all  with  their  wrists  tied  behind  them,  stood 
silently  awaiting  their  turns.  One  among  them,  a  young 

1 


W&Q   GOES   THERE! 


man  wearing  a  golf-cap,  knickerbockers,  heather-spats, 
and  an  absolutely  colourless  face,  stood  staring  at  the 
tumbled  heaps  of  clothing  along  the  foot  of  the  wall  as 
though  stupified. 

Six  peasants  went  first;  the  men  more  smartly  at 
tired  were  to  wait  a  little  longer  it  appeared. 

The  emotionless  and  methodical  preparations,  the 
brisk  precision  of  the  operation,  the  cheerful  celerity 
of  the  firing  squad  made  it  the  more  terrifying,  stun 
ning  the  victims  to  immobility. 

The  young  man  in  the  golf-cap  and  knickerbockers 
clenched  his  tied  hands.  Not  an  atom  of  colour  re 
mained  in  cheeks  or  lips,  and  he  stood  with  face  averted 
while  the  squad  of  execution  was  busy  with  its  business. 

There  seemed  to  be  some  slight  disorder  along  the 
wall — a  defiant  voice  was  raised  hoarsely  cursing  all 
Germans ;  another,  thin  and  hysterical,  cheered  for  Bel 
gium  and  the  young  King.  Also  this  firing  squad  must 
have  aimed  badly,  for  bayonet  and  rifle-butt  were  used 
afterward  and  some  delay  occurred ;  and  an  officer,  re 
volver  swinging,  prowled  along  the  foot  of  the  wall, 
kicking  inquiringly  at  the  dead  heaps  of  heavy  flesh 
that  had  collapsed  there. 

Houses  lining  the  single  village  street  began  to  leak 
smoke ;  smoke  writhed  and  curled  behind  closed  window- 
panes.  Here  and  there  a  mounted  Uhlan  forced  his  big 
horse  up  on  the  sidewalk  and  drove  his  lance  butt 
through  the  window  glass. 

Already  the  street  was  swimming  in  thin  strata  of 
smoke;  the  sea-grey  uniforms  of  the  German  infantry 


IN   THE   MIST 


seemed  part  of  the  haze;  only  the  faces  of  the  soldiery 
were  visible — faces  without  bodies,  thousands  of  flat, 
detached  faces,  thousands  of  little  pig  eyes  set  in  a 
blank  and  foggy  void.  And  over  everything  in  the 
close,  heavy  air  brooded  the  sour  stench  of  a  sweat- 
soaked,  unwashed  army. 

A  third  squad  of  execution  came  swinging  up,  appar 
ently  out  of  nowhere,  their  heavy  half-boots  clumping 
in  unison  on  the  stony  street. 

The  young  man  in  the  golf-cap  and  knickerbockers 
heard  them  coming  and  bit  his  bloodless  lip. 

After  a  moment  the  rhythm  of  the  heavy  boots  ceased. 
The  street  became  very  silent,  save  where  window  glass 
continually  fell  tinkling  to  the  sidewalk  and  the  feath 
ery  whisper  of  flames  became  more  audible  from  within 
the  row  of  empty  houses. 

The  young  man  lifted  his  eyes  to  the  sombre  and  sun 
less  sky.  High  up  there  above  the  mist  and  heavy 
bands  of  smoke  he  saw  the  feathery  tops  of  tall  trees, 
motionless. 

Presently  through  the  silence  came  the  clatter  of 
hoofs ;  Uhlans  cantered  past,  pennons  whipping  from 
lance  heads ;  then  a  soft  two-toned  bugle-call  an 
nounced  an  automobile;  and  presently  it  loomed  up, 
huge,  through  the  parted  ranks  of  the  infantry,  a 
great  grey,  low-purring  bulk,  slowing,  halting,  still 
purring. 

A  grey-clad  general  officer  sat  in  the  tonneau,  a 
grey-uniformed  hussar  was  seated  beside  the  grey-liv 
eried  chauffeur. 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


As  the  car  stopped  several  officers  were  already  beside 
the  running-board,  halted  stiffly  at  attention.  The 
general  officer,  his  cigar  between  his  gloved  fingers, 
leaned  over  the  edge  of  the  tonneau  and  said  something 
in  a  very  quiet  voice. 

Instantly  a  slim,  stiff  infantry  captain  saluted, 
wheeled  sharply,  and  walked  straight  to  the  little  file 
of  prisoners  who  stood  with  their  wrists  tied  behind 
their  backs,  looking  vacantly  at  the  automobile. 

"Which  is  the  prisoner-hostage  who  says  he  is  Amer 
ican?"  he  snapped  out  in  his  nasal  Prussian  voice. 

The  young  man  who  wore  a  golf-cap  took  a  short 
step  forward,  hesitated. 

"You?" 

"Yes." 

"Fall  in  again!" 

The  officer  nodded  to  a  sergeant  of  infantry,  and  a 
squad  of  men  shoved  the  prisoners  into  single  file,  facing 
not  the  fatal  wall,  but  westward,  along  the  street. 

"March!"  said  somebody.  And  the  next  moment 
again:  "Halt!"  rang  out  with  the  snapping  brevity  of 
a  cracked  whip.  The  general  officer  leaned  from  the 
grey  tonneau  and  looked  steadily  along  the  file  of 
hostages  until  his  glance  fell  upon  the  young  man  in 
the  golf-cap. 

"What  is  your  name?"  he  asked  quietly  in  English. 

"My  name  is  Guild." 

"The  rest?" 

"Kervyn  Guild." 

"You  say  you  are  American?" 


IN   THE   MIST 


"Yes." 

The  general  officer  looked  at  him  for  a  moment 
longer,  then  said  something  to  the  hussar  aide-de-camp. 

The  aid  threw  open  the  car  door  and  jumped  out. 
A  lieutenant  took  command  of  the  escort.  The  hussar 
whispered  instructions,  turned  and  came  to  attention 
beside  the  running-board,  then,  at  a  nod  from  the  gen 
eral  officer,  jumped  up  beside  the  chauffeur.  There 
came  the  soft-toned,  mellow  warning  of  the  bugle;  the 
grey  machine  glided  off  into  the  mist;  the  prisoners 
and  escort  followed  it,  marching  briskly. 

As  they  passed  the  end  of  the  street  two  houses  on 
their  right  suddenly  roared  up  in  one  vast,  smoke-shot 
tower  of  flame,  and  a  brassy  glare  lighted  up  the  mist 
around  them. 

Somewhere  near  by  a  woman  began  to  scream;  far 
ther  down  the  street,  more  windows  and  doors  were 
being  beaten  in.  From  farther  away,  still,  came  the 
strains  of  military  music,  resonant,  full,  magnificent. 
A  detail  passed  with  spades  to  bury  the  dead  who  lay 
under  the  wall.  All  was  order,  precision,  and  cheerful 
despatch.  The  infantry  column,  along  the  halted  flanks 
of  which  the  prisoners  were  now  being  marched,  came 
to  attention.  Company  after  company  marked  time, 
heavily ;  shouldered  rifles.  Uhlans  in  file  came  spurring 
through  the  centre  of  the  street ;  a  cyclist  followed,  rifle 
slung  across  his  back,  sitting  at  ease  on  his  machine 
and  gazing  curiously  about. 

Out  of  the  end  of  the  village  street  marched  the  pris 
oners  and  their  escort,  but  presently  halted  again. 

5 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Directly  in  front  of  them  stood  the  grey  automobile 
drawn  up  by  the  roadside  before  a  pair  of  iron  gates. 
The  gates  swung  from  high  stucco  walls.  On  top  of 
the  walls  were  soldiers  sitting,  rifle  on  knee;  a  machine 
gun  commanded  the  drive,  and  across  the  gravel  more 
soldiers  wrere  digging  a  trench,  setting  posts,  and  string 
ing  barbed  wire  which  they  unwound  from  great  wooden 
reels. 

Through  the  gates  escort  and  prisoners  threaded 
their  way,  across  a  lawn  already  trampled  by  cavalry, 
and  straight  on  toward  a  pleasant  looking  and  some 
what  old-fashioned  house  set  amid  older  trees  and  shrub 
bery,  badly  broken. 

Half  a  dozen  grey-clad  staff  officers  were  eating  and 
drinking  on  the  low  stone  terrace ;  their  horses  picketed 
on  the  lawn,  nibbled  the  crushed  shrubbery.  Sentries 
pacing  the  terrace  and  on  guard  at  the  door  came  to 
attention  as  the  lieutenant  in  charge  of  the  escort 
marched  his  prisoners  in. 

At  a  word 'from  him  an  infantryman  went  from  pris 
oner  to  prisoner  untying  the  cords  that  bound  their 
wrists  behind  them.  Then  they  were  marched  into  an 
old-fashioned  drawing-room  on  the  left,  sentries  were 
placed,  the  remainder  of  the  escort  sat  down  on  the 
floor  with  their  loaded  rifles  on  their  laps  and  their 
backs  against  the  wall.  Their  officer,  the  lieutenant, 
walked  across  the  hallway  to  the  room  on  the  left, 
where  the  sentry  admitted  him,  then  closed  the  door 
and  resumed  his  heavy  pacing  of  the  black-tiled  hall. 

The  sergeant  in  charge  of  the  escort  lifted  his  helmet 

6 


IN   THE   MIST 


with  its  grey-cloth  covering,  scratched  his  bullet  head, 
yawned.  Then  he  said,  jerking  a  huge  thumb  toward 
the  drawing-room:  "There's  a  good  wall  in  the  garden 
behind  the  house.  They'll  make  the  fruit  grow  all  the 
better — these  Belgians." 

The  lieutenant,  coming  out  of  the  room  opposite, 
overheard  him. 

"What  your  crops  need,"  he  said  in  a  mincing  Berlin 
voice,  "is  plenty  of  good  English  filth  to  spade  under. 
See  that  you  bring  in  a  few  cart-loads." 

And  he  went  into  the  drawing-room  where  the  pris 
oners  stood  by  the  windows  looking  out  silently  at  a 
great  pall  of  smoke  which  was  hanging  over  the  village 
through  which  they  had  just  been  marched. 

"Which  of  you  is  the  alleged  American?"  said  the 
lieutenant  in  hesitating  but  correct  English. 

The  young  man  in  knickerbockers  rose  from  a  bro 
caded  armchair. 

"Follow  me.  General  von  Reiter  does  you  the  hon 
our  to  question  you." 

The  young  man  looked  the  lieutenant  straight  in 
the  eye  and  smiled,  stiffly  perhaps,  because  his  face 
was  still  pallid  and  the  breath  of  death  still 
chilled  it. 

"The  honour,"  he  said  in  an  agreeably  modulated 
voice,  "is  General  von  Reiter's.  But  I  fear  he  won't 
realize  it." 

"What's  that!"  said  the  lieutenant  sharply. 

But  young  Guild  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "You 
wouldn't  understand  either.  Besides  you  are  too  talka- 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


tive  for  an  underling.  Do  your  duty — if  you  know 
how." 

"Swine  of  a  Yankee,"  said  the  lieutenant,  speaking 
slowly  and  with  painful  precision,  "do  you  suppose  you 
are  in  your  own  sty  of  a  Republic  ?  Silence !  A  Prus 
sian  officer  commands  you!  March!" 

Guild  dropped  his  hands  into  the  pockets  of  his 
belted  jacket.  "You  little  shrimp,"  he  said  good  hu- 
mouredly,  and  followed  the  officer,  who  had  now  drawn 
his  sword. 

Out  into  the  hall  they  filed,  across  it  to  the  closed 
door.  The  sentry  on  duty  there  opened  it;  the  lieu 
tenant,  very  red  in  the  face,  delivered  his  prisoner, 
then,  at  a  nod  from  the  grey-clad  officer  who  was  sit 
ting  behind  a  writing  desk,  saluted,  faced  about,  and 
marched  out.  The  door  closed  sharply  behind  him. 


CHAPTER    II 

THE    MAN    IN    GREY 

YOUNG  Guild  looked  steadily  at  the  man  in  grey, 
and  the  man  in  grey  gazed  as  steadily  back 
from  behind  his  desk. 

He  was  a  man  of  forty-five,  lean,  well  built,  blond, 
and  of  regular  features  save  that  his  cheek-bones  were 
a  trifle  high,  which  seemed  to  crowd  his  light  blue  eyes, 
make  them  narrower,  and  push  them  into  a  very  slight 
slant.  He  had  the  well-groomed  aspect  of  a  Prussian 
officer,  dry  of  skin,  clean-shaven  save  for  the  mustache 
en  croc,  which  his  bony  but  powerful  and  well-kept 
hands  absently  caressed  at  intervals. 

His  forehead  was  broad  and  benevolent,  but  his  eyes 
modified  the  humanity  and  his  mouth  almost  denied  it 
— a  mouth  firm  without  shrewdness,  not  bad,  not  cruel 
for  the  sake  of  cruelty,  yet  moulded  in  lines  which 
promised  no  hope  other  than  that  iron  justice  which 
knows  no  mercy. 

"Mr.  Guild  ?" 

"Yes,  General.'5 

General  von  Reiter  folded  his  bony  hands  and  rested 
them  on  the  blotter. 

9 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"You  say  that  you  are  American?" 

"Yes." 

"How  came  you  to  be  among  the  Yslemont  hos 
tages?" 

"I  was  stopping  at  the  Hotel  Poste  when  the  Uhlans 
and  cyclists  suddenly  appeared.  The  captain  of  Uhlans 
took  the  Burgomaster  with  whom  I  had  been  playing 
chess,  myself,  the  notary,  and  other  leading  citizens." 

"Did  you  tell  him  you  are  American?" 

"Yes.     But  he  paid  no  attention." 

"Had  you  a  passport?" 

"Yes." 

"Other  papers  to  establish  your  identity?" 

"A  few  business  letters  from  New  York.  They  read 
them,  but  told  me  they  were  of  no  use  to  me." 

"Why  did  you  not  communicate  with  your  nearest 
Consul  or  with  the  American  Minister  in  Brussels?" 

"They  refused  me  the  use  of  telephone  and  telegraph. 
They  said  that  I  am  Belgian  and  properly  liable  to  be 
taken  as  hostage  for  the  good  behaviour  of  Yslemont." 

General  von  Reiter's  hand  was  lifted  meditatively  to 
his  mustache.  He  said:  "What  happened  after  you 
were  refused  permission  to  communicate  with  the  Amer 
ican  representatives  ?" 

"We  were  all  in  the  dining-room  of  the  Hotel  Poste 
under  guard.  At  the  Burgomaster's  dictation  I  was 
writing  out  a  proclamation  warning  the  inhabitants  of 
Yslemont  not  to  commit  any  act  of  violence  against  the 
German  soldiery  and  explaining  that  we  were  held  as 
hostages  for  their  good  behaviour  and  that  a  shot  fired 

10 


THE   MAN   IN    GREY 


at  a  German  meant  a  dead  wall  and  a  squad  of  execu 
tion  for  us  and  the  destruction  of  Yslemont  for  them — " 
He  flushed,  hesitated. 

"Continue,"  said  the  general. 

"While  I  was  still  writing  the  shots  were  fired.  We 
all  went  to  the  window  and  we  saw  Uhlans  galloping 
across  the  fields  after  some  peasants  who  were  running 
into  the  woods.  Afterward  two  stretchers  came  by  with 
Germans  lying  in  them.  After  that  an  officer  came  and 
cursed  us  and  the  soldiers  tied  our  hands  behind  our 
backs.  We  sat  there  in  the  dining-room  until  the 
Uhlans  came  riding  into  the  street  with  their  prisoners 
tied  by  ropes  to  their  saddles.  Then  a  major  of  in 
fantry  came  into  the  dining-room  and  read  our  sen 
tence  to  us.  Then  they  marched  us  out  into  the  fog." 

The  general  crossed  his  spurred  boots  under  the 
desk  and  lay  back  in  his  chair,  looking  at  Guild  all 
the  while. 

"So  you  are  American,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"Yes,  General." 

"In  business  in  New  York?" 

"Yes." 

"What  business?" 

"Real  estate." 

"Where?" 

"Union  Square,  West." 

"What  is  the  name  of  the  firm  in  which  you  are 
associated?" 

"Guild  and  Barrel." 

"Is  that  your  partner's  name?" 

11 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Yes.     Henry  Barrel." 

"Why  are  you  here  in  Belgium?" 

"I  was  making  a  foot  tour  in  the  Ardennes." 

"Your  business  vacation?" 

"Yes.  I  was  to  meet  my  partner  in  Luxembourg 
and  return  to  New  York  with  him." 

"You  and  your  partner  are  both  absent  from  New 
York  at  the  same  time?" 

"Yes." 

"How  is  that?" 

"Real  estate  in  New  York  is  quiet.  There  is  prac 
tically  no  business  now." 

The  general  nodded.  "Yes,"  he  said,  "much  of  what 
you  tell  me  has  been  corroborated.  In  the  Seegard 
Regiment  of  Infantry  Number  569  you  were  recognized 
by  several  non-commissioned  officers  and  men  while  you 
stood  with  the  hostages  awaiting — ah — justice,"  he 
added  drily. 

"Recognized?"  repeated  Guild. 

"The  soldiers  who  recognized  you  had  served  in  New 
York  hotels  as  clerks  or  waiters,  I  believe.  The  cap 
tain  of  that  company,  in  consequence,  very  properly 
reported  the  matter  to  Colonel  von  Eschbach,  who 
telephoned  to  me.  And  I  am  here  to  consider  the 
matter." 

Then,  folding  his  arms  and  looking  hard  at  Guild 
out  of  narrowing  eyes  that  began  to  slant  again : 

"The  hostages  of  Yslemont  have  justly  forfeited 
their  lives.  Two  of  my  officers  have  been  murdered 
there  in  the  streets.  The  law  is  plain.  Is  there  any 

12 


THE   MAN   IN    GREY 


reason  why  these  hostages  should  not  pay  the  proper 
penalty?" 

"The  Burgomaster  was  in  the  act  of  dictating " 

"He  should  have  dictated  faster!" 

"These  gentlemen  did  not  fire  the  shots " 

"But  those  over  whom  they  exercised  authority 
did!" 

Guild  fell  silent  and  his  features  paled  a  little.  The 
general  watched  him  in  silence  for  a  moment  and  an 
inquiring  expression  came  into  his  narrow  eyes. 

"Well?"  he  said  at  length. 

Guild  lifted  his  eyes. 

"Well,  sir,"  repeated  the  general.  "I  have  said  that 
there  is  no  reason  why  the  hostages  taken  at  Yslemont 
should  not  be  turned  over  to  the  squad  of  execution 
outside  there  in  the  hallway." 

"I  heard  you  say  it." 

The  general  looked  at  him  curiously.  "You  have 
nothing  to  say?" 

"No." 

"Not  for  yourself?" 

"No." 

"As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mr.  Guild,  what  was  your  ul 
timate  object  in  passing  through  Yslemont?" 

"I  have  already  told  you  that  I  had  intended  to  make 
a  foot  tour  through  the  Three  Ardennes." 

"Had  intended?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  that  still  your  intention  when  you  were  made 
prisoner?" 

13 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


After  a  moment's  hesitation:  "No,"  said  Guild  in  a 
low  voice. 

"You  altered  your  plan?" 

"Yes." 

"You  decided  to  employ  your  vacation  otherwise?" 

"Yes." 

"How?" 

"I  decided  to  enlist,"  said  Guild.  He  was  very 
white,  now. 

"Enlist?" 

"Yes." 

"In  the  British  army?" 

"The  Belgian." 

"Oh!  So  now  you  do  not  remind  me  that,  as  an 
American,  you  claim  exemption  from  the  execution  of 
the  sentence?" 

"I  have  said  enough,"  replied  Guild.  A  slight  colour 
showed  over  his  cheek-bones. 

"If  I  shoot  the  Burgomaster  and  the  notary  and  the 
others  in  there,  ought  I  to  let  you  go — on  your  own 
representations  ?" 

"I  have  said  enough,"  repeated  Guild. 

"Oh!  So  you  refuse  to  plead  any  particular  ex 
emption  on  account  of  your  nationality?" 

No  answer. 

"And  you,  by  your  silence,  permit  yourself  to 
be  implicated  in  the  responsibility  of  your  fellow- 
hostages  ?" 

No  reply. 

"Why?— Mr.   Guild.      Is  it,  perhaps,   after   all  be- 

14 


THE   MAN   IN   GREY 


cause  you  are  not  an  American  in  the  strictest  sense 
of  that  often  misused  term?" 

There  was  no  response. 

"You  were  born  in  America?" 

"Yes." 

"Your  father,  perhaps,  was  born  there?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh!    And  his  father?" 

"No." 

"Oh!    You  are,  I  see,  quite  candid,  Mr.  Guild." 

"Yes,  when  necessary." 

"I  see.  Very  well,  then.  Where  do  you  get  your 
Christian  name,  Kervyn?  Is  it  an  American  name?" 

"No." 

"The  name,  Guild — is  that  an  American  name?" 

"Yes." 

"But — is  it  your  name?" 

"Yes." 

"Was  it,  by  chance,  ever  spelled  a  little  differently 
• — in  times  gone  by,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh!  And  how,  in  times  gone  by,  was  it  spelled  by 
your — grandfather  ?" 

Guild  looked  him  calmly  in  the  eyes.  "It  was  spelled 
Gueldres,"  he  said. 

"I  see,  I  see.  That  is  interesting.  Gueldres,  Kervyn 
Gueldres.  Why,  it  sounds  almost  Belgian.  Let  me 
see — if  I  remember — there  was  such  a  family  inscribed 
in  the  Book  of  Gold.  There  was  even  a  Kervyn  of 
Gueldres — a  count,  was  he  not? — Comte  d'Yvoir — 

15 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


Count  of  Yvoir,  Hastiere,  and  Lesse.  Was  he  not — 
this  Kervyn  of  Gueldres,  many,  many  years  ago?" 

"I  congratulate  General  von  Reiter  on  his  memory 
for  such  unimportant  history  as  that  of  Belgium,"  said 
Guild,  reddening. 

"Oh,  we  Germans  are  studious  in  our  youth — and 
thorough.  Nothing  is  too  unimportant  to  ignore  and" 
— he  smiled  grimly — "nothing  is  too  vast  for  us  to 
undertake — and  accomplish." 

He  lifted  his  hand  to  his  mustache  again.  "Mr. 
Guild,"  he  said,  "at  the  elections  in  America  you — ah — 
vote  of  course?" 

"No." 

"What?" 

Guild  remained  silent. 

The  general,  stroking  his  mustache,  said  pleasantly: 
"The  Belgian  nobility  always  interested  me ;  it  is  so 
exclusive  and  there  are  so  few  families  of  the  classe 
noble.  Except  for  those  ten  families  who  are  inde 
pendent  of  Court  favour — like  the  Croys  and  De  Lignes 
— there  seem  to  be  only  about  thirty  families  who  pos 
sess  the  privileges  of  the  Golden  Book.  Is  this  not  so?" 

"General  von  Reiter  appears  to  know." 

The  general  seemed  gratified  at  this  corroboration  of 
his  own  memory.  "And,"  he  went  on  amiably,  "this 
Belgian  nobility  is  a  real  nobility.  Once  of  it,  always 
a  part  of  it.  And,  too,  its  code  is  so  rigid,  so  inex 
orably  precise  that  it  seems  almost  Prussian.  For  ex 
ample,  the  code  of  the  Belgian  aristocracy  permits  none 
of  its  members  to  go  into  any  commercial  business,  any 

16 


THE   MAN   IN   GREY 


trade — even  forbids  an  entry  into  high  finance.  Only 
the  Church  and  Army  are  open  to  it;  and  in  the  Army 
only  the  two  Guides  regiments  and  the  Lancers  are 
permitted  to  young  men  of  the  aristocracy."  He  gazed 
almost  mildly  at  the  young  man:  "You  are  in  business, 
you  tell  me  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Oh !    Then  of  course  you  have  never  been  a  soldier." 

Guild  was  silent. 

"Have  you  ever  served  in  the  army?" 

"Yes." 

"Really!  In  what  American  regiment  have  you 
served  ?" 

"In  a  militia  regiment  of  cavalry — the  1st  New 
York." 

"How  interesting.  And — you  have  never  served  in 
the  regular  army?" 

"N— "  but  Guild  hesitated. 

General  von  Reiter  watched  him  intently. 

"Did  you  reply  in  the  negative,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"No,  I  did  not  reply  at  all." 

"Oh!    Then  would  you  be  good  enough  to  reply?" 

"If— you  insist." 

"I  insist." 

"Very  well,"  said  Guild,  reddening,  "then  I  have 
served  in  the — Belgian  army." 

The  general  nodded  without  surprise:  "In  what 
regiment  ?" 

"In  the  first  regiment  of  Guides." 

"You  came  from  America  to  do  this?" 

17 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


"Yes." 

"When?" 

"When  I  became  of  military  age." 

"Noblesse  oblige?" 

No  reply. 

"In  other  words,  you  are  an  American  with  all  the 
Belgian  aristocracy's  sense  of  responsibility  to  race  and 
tradition.  You  are  a  good  American,  but  there  are 
inherited  instincts  which  sent  you  back  to  serve  two 
years  with  the  colours — to  serve  a  country  which  for 
ten  hundred  years  your  race  has  defended.  And — the 
Guides  alone  was  open  to  a  Gueldres — where,  in  Amer 
ica,  p  Guild  was  free  to  choose.  Monsieur,  you  are 
Belgi  m ;  and,  as  a  Belgian,  you  were  properly  seized 
as  a  hostage  and  properly  sentenced  to  pay  the  penalty 
for  the  murderous  misbehaviour  of  your  own  people! 
I  approve  the  sentence.  Have  you  anything  to  say?" 

"No." 

The  general  regarded  him  closely,  then  rose,  came 
around  the  end  of  the  desk,  walked  across  the  room  and 
halted  directly  in  front  of  Guild. 

"So  you  see  there  is  no  chance  for  you,"  he  said, 
staring  hard  at  him. 

Guild  managed  to  control  his  voice  and  speak  clearly : 
"I  see,"  he  said. 

"Suppose,"  said  von  Reiter,  still  staring  at  him,  "I 
ask  you  to  do  me  a  favour?" 

Guild's  face  was  marble,  but  he  managed  to  force  a 
smile:  "You  ask  a  favour  of  a  prisoner  a  few  moments 
before  his  execution?" 

18 


THE   MAN   IN   GREY 


"I  do.     Will  you  grant  it?" 

"What  is  it?" 

"Nothing  dishonourable  to   a  good — American." 

"That  is  not  enough;  and  you  know  it." 

"Very  well.  I  shall  tell  you  then.  I  have  a  daugh 
ter  in  England.  I  can't  get  her  away  from  England — 
I  can't  get  word  to  her.  I — "  suddenly  his  dry,  blond 
features  twitched,  but  instantly  the  man  had  them  under 
iron  control  again,  and  he  cleared  his  throat:  "She  is 
in  England  near  London.  We  are  at  war  with  Eng 
land.  I  want  my  daughter  out  of  the  country.  I  can't 
get  her  out.  Go  and  get  her  for  me !" 

For  a  full  minute  the  two  men  gazed  at  each  other 
in  silence.  Then  von  Reiter  said:  "I  know  enough  of 
you.  If  you  say  you'll  do  it  I'll  free  the  Burgomaster 
and  the  others  in  there — "  he  jerked  his  bony  thumb 
toward  the  hallway  outside — "If  you  say  you'll  do 
it — if  you  say  you'll  go  to  England,  now,  and  find  my 
daughter,  and  bring  her  here  to  me — or  conduct  her 
to  whatever  point  I  designate,  I'll  not  have  those  men 
shot;  I'll  not  burn  the  rest  of  Yslemont;  I'll  see  that 
you  are  conducted  to  the  Dutch  frontier  unmolested 
after  you  carry  out  your  engagements  with  me.  Will 
you  do  it?" 

Guild  met  his  intent  gaze  with  a  gaze  as  searching: 

"What  is  your  daughter's  name?" 

"Her  name  is  Karen." 

"Where  am  I  to  find  her?" 

"Thirty  miles  out  of  London  at  Westheath.  She  is 
known  there  as  Karen  Girard." 

19 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"What!"  said  Guild  sharply. 

"She  chose  to  be  so  known  in  her  profession." 

"Her  profession?" 

"She  has  been  on  the  stage — against  my  wishes.  She 
is  preparing  herself  further — contrary  to  my  wishes. 
Until  she  disassociates  herself  from  that  profession  she 
will  not  use  the  name  of  von  Reiter." 

Guild  nodded  slowly :  "That  is  why  your  daughter  is 
known  as  Karen  Girard?" 

"That  is  why.  She  is  a  young  girl — nineteen.  She 
went  to  school  in  her  mother's  country,  Denmark.  She 
imbibed  notions  there — and,  later,  in  England  among 
art  students  and  others.  It  is  the  well-born  who  suc 
cumb  most  easily  to  nonsense  once  the  discipline  is  re 
laxed.  She  has  had  her  way  in  spite  of  my  authority. 
Now  it  is  time  for  such  insubordination  to  cease.  I 
wish  to  have  my  daughter  back.  I  cannot  get  her. 
You  are — American — to  all  intents  and  purposes,  and 
you  would  be  under  no  suspicion  in  England.  Your 
appearance,  your  speech,  your  manners  all  are  above 
suspicion.  You  can  do  this.  I  have  made  up  my  mind 
concerning  you,  and  I  trust  you.  Will  you  go  to  Eng 
land,  find  my  daughter  and  bring  her  back  to  me  here ; 
or,  if  I  am  ordered  elsewhere,  will  you  escort  her  to  my 
country  place  in  Silesia  which  is  called  Rehthal?" 

"Suppose  I  do  not  find  her?     Suppose  I  fail?" 

"You  will  return  here  and  report  to  me." 

"If  I  fail  and  I  return  here  and  report  my  failure, 
does  that  mean  the  execution  of  the  gentlemen  in  the 
drawing-room  yonder  ?" 

20 


"'If  you   say   you'll    do   it,    ...    I'll   not    have    those    men 

shot '  " 


THE   MAN   IN    GREY 


"It  does." 

"And  the  destruction  of  Yslemont?" 

"Absolutely." 

"And — "  the  young  man  smiled — "incidentally  it 
means  my  own  execution,  does  it  not?" 

"It  does." 

They  gazed  at  each  other  with  intense  interest. 

"Under  such  circumstances  do  you  think  I'll  come 
back  if  I  am  not  successful?"  inquired  the  younger  man. 

"I  am  satisfied  that  you  will  return  if  you  say  you 
will." 

"Return  to  face  my  own  execution?"  repeated  Guild, 
curiously.  "You  believe  that  of  me? — of  a  man  about 
whom  you  know  nothing — a  man  who" — his  animated 
features  suddenly  darkened  and  he  caught  his  breath  a 
moment,  then — "a  man  who  considers  your  nation  a 
barbarous  one,  your  rulers  barbarians,  your  war  inex 
cusable,  your  invasion  of  this  land  the  vilest  example  of 
treachery  and  dishonour  that  the  world  has  ever  wit 
nessed — you  still  believe  that  such  a  man  might  con 
sider  himself  bound  to  return  here  if  unsuccessful  and 
face  one  of  your  murdering  platoons?  Do  you?"  he 
repeated,  the  slightest  intonation  of  violence  beginning 
to  ring  in  the  undertones  of  his  voice. 

Von  Reiter's  dry,  blond  features  had  become  greyer 
and  more  set.  His  light  blue  eyes  never  left  the  other ; 
behind  their  pale,  steady  scrutiny  he  seemed  to  be  con 
sidering  every  word. 

He  drew  in  his  breath,  slowly;  his  very  thin  lips  re 
ceded  for  a  moment,  then  the  fixed  tranquillity  returned. 

21 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"We  Germans,"  he  said  drily,  "care  nothing  for  what 
Europe  may  think  of  us  or  say  about  us.  Perhaps  we 
are  vandals,  Goths,  Huns — whatever  you  call  them. 
Perhaps  we  are  barbarians.  I  think  we  are!  For  we 
mean  to  scour  the  old  world  clean  of  its  rottenness — 
cauterize  it,  cut  out  the  old  sores  of  a  worn-out  civil 
ization,  scrape  its  surface  clean  of  the  parasite  nations. 
.  .  .  And,  if  fire  be  necessary  to  burn  out  the  last 
traces — "  His  light  blue  eyes  glimmered  a  very  reflec 
tion  of  the  word — "then  let  fire  pass.  It  has  passed, 
before — God's  Angel  of  the  Flaming  Sword  has  re 
turned  again  to  lead  us !  What  is  a  cathedral  or  two — 
or  pictures  or  foolish  statues — or  a  million  lives?  Yes, 
if  you  choose,  we  are  barbarians.  And  we  intend  to 
plow  under  the  accumulated  decay  of  the  whole  world, 
and  burn  up  its  rubbish  and  found  our  new  world  on 
virgin  earth.  Yes,  we  are  barbarians.  And  our  Em 
peror  is  a  barbarian.  And  God,  who  creates  with  one 
hand  and  destroys  with  the  other — God — autocrat  of 
material  creation,  inexorable  Over-Lord  of  ultimate 
material  annihilation,  is  the  greatest  barbarian  of  all! 
Under  His  orders  we  are  moving.  In  His  name  we 
annihilate !  Amen !" 

A  dead  silence  ensued.  And  after  it  had  lasted  a 
little  while  the  tall  Prussian  lifted  his  hand  absently  to 
his  mustache  and  touched  it  caressingly. 

"I  am  satisfied,  whatever  your  opinion  may  be  of  me 
or  of  my  people,  that  you  will  return  if  you  say  you 
will,  successful  or  otherwise.  I  promise  you  immunity 
if  you  return  with  my  daughter ;  I  promise  you  a  wall 

22 


THE   MAN  IN   GREY 


and  a  file  of  men  if  you  return  unsuccessful.  But,  in 
either  event,  I  am  satisfied  that  you  will  return.  Will 
you  go?" 

"Yes,"  said  Guild,  thoughtfully.  They  stood  for  a 
moment  longer,  the  young  man  gazing  absently  out  of 
the  window  toward  the  menacing  smoke  pall  which  was 
increasing  above  Yslemont. 

"You  promise  not  to  burn  the  remainder  of  the  vil 
lage?"  he  asked,  turning  to  look  at  von  Reiter. 

"I  promise  not  to  burn  it  if  you  keep  your  promise." 

"I'll  try.  .  .  .  And  the  Burgomaster,  notary,  mag 
istrate,  and  the  others  are  to  be  released?" 

"If  you  do  what  I  ask." 

"Very  well.  It's  worth  trying  for.  Give  me  my 
credentials." 

"You  need  no  written  ones.  Letters  are  unsafe.  You 
will  go  to  my  daughter,  who  has  leased  a  small  cottage 
at  Westheath.  You  will  say  to  her  that  you  come  from 
me;  that  the  question  which  she  was  to  decide  on  the 
first  of  November  must  be  decided  sooner,  and  that 
when  she  arrives  at  Rehthal  in  Silesia  she  is  to  tele 
graph  me  through  the  General  Staff  of  her  arrival.  If 
I  can  obtain  leave  to  go  to  Silesia  I  shall  do  so.  If 
not,  I  shall  telegraph  my  instructions  to  her." 

"Will  that  be  sufficient  for  your  daughter  to  place 
her  confidence  in  a  man  absolutely  strange  to  her  and 
accompany  that  man  on  a  journey  of  several  days?" 
asked  Guild,  slightly  astonished. 

"Not  quite  sufficient,"  said  von  Reiter,  his  dry,  blond 
visage  slightly  relaxing. 

23 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


He  drew  a  rather  plain  ring  from  his  bony  finger: 
"See  if  you  can  wear  that,"  he  said.  "Does  it  fit  you?" 

Guild  tried  it  on.     "Well  enough." 

"Is  there  any  danger  of  its  slipping  off?" 

Guild  tried  it  on  another  finger,  which  it  fitted 
snugly. 

"It  looks  like  any  other  plain  gold  ring,"  he  re 
marked. 

"Her  name  is  engraved  inside." 

"Karen?" 

"Karen." 

There  came  a  short  pause.  Then:  "Do  you  know 
London?"  asked  von  Reiter. 

"Passably." 

"Oh!  You  are  likely  to  require  a  touring  car. 
You'll  find  it  difficult  to  get.  May  I  recommend  the 
Edmeston  Agency?  It's  about  the  only  agency,  now, 
where  any  gasoline  at  all  is  obtainable.  The  Edmeston 
Agency.  I  use  it  when  I  am  in  London.  Ask  for  Mr. 
Louis  Gratz." 

After  a  moment  he  added,  "My  chauffeur  brought 
your  luggage,  rucksack,  stick,  and  so  forth,  from  Ysle- 
mont.  You  wTill  go  to  the  enemies'  lines  south  of  Ostend 
in  my  car.  One  of  my  aides-de-camp  will  accompany 
you  and  show  you  a  letter  of  instructions  before  de 
livering  you  to  the  enemies'  flag  of  truce.  You  will 
read  the  letter,  learn  it  by  heart,  and  return  it  to  my 
aide,  Captain  von  Klipper. 

"There  is  a  bedroom  above.  Go  up  there.  Food 
will  be  sent  you.  Get  what  sleep  you  can,  because  you 

24 


THE   MAN  IN   GREY 


are  to  leave  at  sunrise.  Is  this  arrangement  agreeable 
to  you — Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Gueldres?" 

"Perfectly,  General  Baron  von  Reiter." 

"Also.  Then  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  good 
night  and  a  pleasant  sleep." 

"I  thank  you  and  I  have  the  honour  to  wish  you  the 
same,"  said  Guild,  bowing  pleasantly. 

General  von  Reiter  stood  aside  and  saluted  with  stiff 
courtesy  as  the  young  man  passed  out. 

A  few  moments  later  a  regimental  band  somewhere 
along  the  Yslemont  highway  began  to  play  "Polen 
Blut." 

If  blood  were  the  theme,  they  ought  to  have  played  it 
well  enough. 


CHAPTER    III 

TIPPERARY 

IT  noon  on  the  following  day  Kervyn  Guild  wrote 
to  his  friend  Darrel: 


DEAR  HARRY: 

Instead  of  joining  you  on  the  Black  Erenz  for 
the  late  August  trout  fishing  I  am  obliged  to  go 
elsewhere. 

I  have  had  a  most  unpleasant  experience,  and  it 
is  not  ended,  and  I  do  not  yet  know  what  the  out 
come  is  to  be. 

From  the  fact  that  I  have  not  dated  this  letter 
it  will  be  evident  to  you  that  I  am  not  permitted 
to  do  so.  Also  you  will  understand  that  I  have 
been  caught  somewhere  in  the  war  zone  and  that  is 
why  the  name  of  the  place  from  which  I  am  writ 
ing  you  is  omitted — by  request. 

We  have  halted  for  luncheon  at  a  wayside  inn — 
the  gentleman  who  is  kind  enough  to  accompany 
me,  and  I — and  I  have  obtained  this  benevolent 
gentleman's  authorization  to  write  you  whatever 
I  please  as  long  as  I  do  NOT 

1st.  Tell  you  where  I  am  going. 

26 


TIPPERARY 


2d.  Tell  you  where  I  am. 

3d.  Tell  you  anything  else  that  does  not  suit 
him. 

And  he  isn't  a  censor  at  that;  he  is  just  a  very 
efficient,  polite,  and  rather  good-looking  German 
officer  serving  as  aide  on  the  staff  of  a  certain 
German  major-general. 

Day  before  yesterday,  after  luncheon,  I  was 
playing  a  quiet  game  of  chess  with  the  Burgo 
master  of  a  certain  Belgian  village,  and  was  tak 
ing  a  last  look  before  setting  out  for  Luxem 
bourg  on  foot,  rucksack,  stick,  and  all,  when — 
well,  circumstances  over  which  I  had  no  control 
interrupted  the  game  of  chess.  It  was  white  to 
go  and  mate  in  three  moves.  The  Burgomaster  was 
playing  black.  I  had  him,  Harry.  Too  bad,  be 
cause  he  was  the  best  player  in — well  in  that 
neighbourhood.  I  opened  with  a  Lopez  and  he  re 
plied  most  irregularly.  It  certainly  was  interest 
ing.  I  am  sorry  that  I  couldn't  mate  him  and  an 
alyze  the  game  with  him.  However,  thank 
Heaven,  I  did  announce  mate  in  three  moves, 
and  the  old  gentleman  was  still  defiantly  studying 
the  situation.  I  admit  he  refused  to  resign. 

I  left  that  village  toward  evening  in  a  large, 
grey  automobile.  I  and  the  gentleman  who  still 
accompanies  me  slept  fairly  well  that  night,  con 
sidering  the  fact  that  a  town  was  on  fire  all 
around  us. 

In  the  morning  we  made  slow  progress  in  our 
automobile.  Roads  and  fields  were  greenish  grey 
with  troops — a  vast  horde  of  them  possessed  the 

27 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


valleys;  they  enveloped  the  hills  like  fog-banks 
turning  the  whole  world  grey — infantry,  artil 
lery,  cuirassiers,  Uhlans,  hussars — all  mist  colour 
from  helmet  to  heel — and  so  are  their  waggons 
and  guns  and  caissons  and  traction-engines  and 
motor-cycles  and  armoured  cars  and  aeroplanes. 

The  latter  are  magnificent  in  an  artistic  sense 
— perfect  replicas  of  giant  pigeon-hawks,  circling, 
planing,  sheering  the  air  or  sailing  high,  majestic 
as  a  very  lammergeier,  fierce,  relentless,  terrible. 

My  efficient  companion  who  is  reading  this  let 
ter  over  my  shoulder  as  I  write  it,  and  who  has 
condescended  to  permit  a  ghost  of  a  smile  to 
mitigate,  now  and  then,  the  youthful  seriousness 
of  his  countenance,  is  not  likely  to  object  when  I 
say  to  you  that  what  I  have  seen  of  the  German 
army  on  the  march  is  astoundingly  impressive. 
(He  smiles  again  very  boyishly  and  says  he 
doesn't  object.) 

Order,  precision,  a  knowledge  of  the  country 
absolutely  unhesitating  marks  its  progress.  There 
is  much  singing  in  the  infantry  ranks.  The  men 
march  well,  their  physique  is  fine,  the  cavalry  are 
superbly  mounted,  the  guns — (He  shakes  his 
head,  so  never  mind  the  guns.) 

Their  regimental  bands  are  wonderful.  It  is  a 
sheer  delight  to  listen  to  them.  They  play  every 
thing  from  "Polen  Blut"  and  "Sari."  to  Sousa, 
"Tannhauser,"  and  "A  Hot  Time,"  but  I  haven't 
yet  heard  "Tipperary."  (He  seems  puzzled  at 
this,  but  does  not  object.)  I  expect  shortly  to 
hear  a  band  playing  it.  (I  have  to  explain  to 

28 


TIPPERARY 


my  efficient  companion  that  "Tipperary"  is  a  tune 
which  ought  to  take  Berlin  and  Vienna  by  storm 
when  they  hear  it.  It  takes  Berlin  and  Vienna 
to  really  appreciate  good  music.  He  agrees 
with  me.) 

Yesterday  we  passed  a  convoy  of  prisoners, 
some  were  kilted.  I  was  not  permitted  to  speak  to 
them — but,  Oh,  those  wistful  eyes  of  Scottish  blue ! 
I  guess  they  understood,  for  they  got  all  the  to 
bacco  I  had  left.  (My  companion  is  doubtful 
about  this,  but  finally  shrugs  his  shoulders.) 

There  is  an  awesome  noise  going  on  beyond  us 
in — well  in  a  certain  direction.  I  think  that  all 
the  artillery  ever  made  is  producing  it.  There's 
practically  no  smoke  visible  against  the  clear  blue 
August  sky — nothing  to  see  at  all  except  the  feath 
ery  cotton  fleece  of  shrapnel  appearing,  expand 
ing,  vanishing  over  a  hill  on  the  horizon,  and  two 
aeroplanes  circling  high  like  a  pair  of  mated 
hawks. 

And  all  the  while  this  earth-rocking  diapason 
continues  more  terrible,  more  majestic  than  any 
real  thunder  I  ever  heard. 

We  have  had  luncheon  and  are  going  on.  He 
drank  five  quarts  of  Belgian  beer!  I  am  permit 
ted  a  few  minutes  more  and  he  orders  the  sixth 
quart.  This  is  what  I  have  to  say: 

In  case  anything  should  go  wrong  with  me  give 
the  enclosed  note  to  my  mother.  Please  see  to 
it  that  everything  I  have  goes  to  her.  My  will 
is  in  my  box  in  our  safe  at  the  office.  It  is  all 
quite  clear.  There  should  be  no  trouble. 

29 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


I  expressed  my  trunk  to  your  care  in  Luxem 
bourg.  You  wrote  me  that  you  had  received  it 
and  placed  it  in  storage  to  await  my  leisurely  ar 
rival.  In  case  of  accident  to  me  send  it  to  my 
mother. 

About  the  business,  my  share  in  any  deals  now 
on  should  go  to  my  brother.  After  that  if  you 
care  to  take  George  in  when  he  comes  out  of  Har 
vard  it  would  gratify  his  mother  and  me. 

He's  all  to  the  good,  you  know.  But  don't  do 
this  if  the  business  does  not  warrant  it.  Don't 
do  it  out  of  sentiment,  Harry.  If  he  promises 
to  be  of  use,  and  if  you  have  no  other  man  in 
view,  and  if,  as  I  say,  business  conditions  war 
rant  such  an  association  with  a  view  to  eventual 
partnership,  then  if  you  care  to  take  in  George 
it  will  be  all  right. 

He  has  sufficient  capital,  as  you  know.  He 
lacks  only  the  business  experience.  And  he  is 
intelligent  and  quick  and  it  won't  take  him  long. 

But  if  you  prefer  somebody  else  don't  hesi 
tate.  George  is  perfectly  able  to  take  care  of 
his  mother  and  himself. 

This  is  all,  I  think.  I'm  sorry  about  the  Au 
gust  fishing  on  the  Black  Erenz.  It  is  a  lovely 
stream  and  full  of  trout.  All  Luxembourg  is 
lovely;  it  is  a  story-book  country — a  real  land 
of  romance.  I  wish  I  might  have  seen  it  again. 
Never  were  such  forests,  such  silver  streams, 
such  golden  glades,  such  wild-flowers — never 
such  hills,  such  meadows,  such  skies. 

Well — if  I  come  back  to  you,  I  come  back.     If 

30 


TIPPEEAEY 


not — good-bye,  old  fellow — with  all  it  implies  be 
tween  friends  of  many  years. 

Say  to  your  kind  friends,  the  Courlands,  who  so 
graciously  invited  you  to  bring  me  with  you  to 
Lesse  Forest,  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to  accept 
their  delightful  hospitality,  and  that  my  inability 
to  do  so  must  remain  to  me  a  regret  as  long  as 
I  live.  (These  guns  are  thundering  enough  to 
crack  the  very  sky!  I  really  wish  I  could  hear 
some  band  playing  "Tipperary.") 

Good-bye  for  a  while — or  indefinitely.  Good 
luck  to  you. 

KERVYN  GUILD. 

"Is  that  quite  acceptable  to  you?"  asked  Guild  of 
tbe  young  Death's  Head  hussar  beside  bim. 

"Quite  acceptable,"  replied  tbe  officer  politely.  "But 
what  is  tbere  remarkable  in  anybody  drinking  six  quarts 
of  beer?" 

Guild  laughed:  "Here  is  the  note  tbat  I  desire  to 
enclose  with  it,  if  I  may  do  so."  And  he  wrote : 

DEAREST: 

You  must  not  grieve  too  much.  You  have 
George.  It  could  not  be  avoided,  honourably. 
He  and  I  are  good  Americans;  we  are,  perhaps, 
something  else,  too.  But  what  the  Book  of  Gold 
holds  it  never  releases;  what  is  written  there  is 
never  expunged.  George  must  do  what  I  did 
when  the  time  comes.  I  would  have  done  more 
— was  meaning  to — was  on  my  way.  Destiny  has 
ordered  it  otherwise. 

31 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


While  I  live  I  think  always  of  you.     And  it 
shall  be  so  until  the  last. 

This  letter  is  to  be  sent  to  you  by  Harry  Dar- 
rel  only  in  the  event  of  my  death. 

There's  a  good  chance  for  me.     But  if  things 
go  wrong,  then,  good-bye,  dearest. 

KERVYN. 
P.  S. 

Tell  George  that  it's  up  to  him,  now. 

K. 

He  held  out  the  letter  cheerfully  to  the  hussar,  but 
the  latter  had  read  it,  and  he  merely  nodded  in  respect 
ful  silence.  So  Guild  folded  it,  sealed  it  in  an  envelope, 
wrote  on  it,  "For  my  Mother  in  case  of  my  death,"  and 
inclosed  it  in  his  letter  to  Darrel. 

"Any  time  you  are  ready  now,"  he  said,  rising  from 
the  little  enameled  iron  table  under  the  arbour. 

The  hussar  rose,  clanking,  and  set  a  whistle  to  his 
lips.  Then,  turning:  "I  shall  have  yet  one  more  glass 
of  beer,"  he  said  blandly,  but  his  eyes  twinkled. 

The  grey  car  rolled  up  in  a  few  moments.  Over  it 
at  a  vast  height  something  soared  in  hawk-like  circles. 
It  may  have  been  a  hawk.  There  was  no  telling  at 
such  a  height. 

So  they  drove  off  again  amid  the  world-shaking  din 
of  tbe  guns  paralleling  the  allied  lines  toward  the  west. 
Ostend  lay  somewhere  in  that  direction,  the  channel 
flowed  beyond;  beyond  that  crouched  England — where 
bands  were  playing  "Tipperary" — and  where,  perhaps, 
a  young  girl  was  listening  to  that  new  battle  song  of 


TIPPERAEY 


which  the  young  hussar  beside  him  had  never  even 
heard. 

As  the  grey  car  hummed  westward  over  the  Belgian 
road,  Guild  thought  of  these  things  while  the  whole 
world  about  him  was  shaking  with  the  earthquake  of 
the  guns. 

"Karen,"  he  repeated  under  his  breath,  "Karen 
Girard." 

After  a  while  sentinels  began  to  halt  them  every  few 
rods.  The  chauffeur  unrolled  two  white  flags  and  set 
them  in  sockets  on  either  side  of  the  hood.  The  hussar 
beside  him  produced  a  letter  from  his  grey  despatch- 
pouch. 

"General  von  Reiter's  orders,"  he  said  briefly.  "You 
are  to  read  them  now  and  return  the  letter  to  me  before 
the  enemies'  parlementaire  answers  our  flag." 

Guild  took  the  envelope,  tore  it  open,  and  read: 

Orders  received  since  our  interview  make  it 
impossible  for  me  to  tell  you  where  to  find  me 
on  your  return. 

My  country  place  in  Silesia  is  apparently  out 
of  the  question  at  present  as  a  residence  for  the 
person  you  are  expected  to  bring  back  with  you. 
The  inclosed  clipping  from  a  Danish  newspaper 
will  explain  why.  Therefore  you  will  sail  from 
London  on  Wednesday  or  Sunday,  taking  a  Hol 
land  liner.  You  will  land  at  Amsterdam,  go  by 
rail  through  Utrecht,  Helmond,  Halen,  Maas 
tricht.  You  will  be  expected  there.  If  I  am  not 
there  you  will  remain  over  night. 

S3 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


If  you  return  from  your  journey  alone  and  un 
successful  you  will  surrender  yourself  as  prisoner 
to  the  nearest  German  post  and  ask  the  officer  in 
charge  to  telegraph  me. 

If  you  return  successful  you  shall  be  permitted 
at  Eijsden  to  continue  your  journey  with  the  per 
son  you  bring  with  you,  across  the  Luxembourg 
border  to  Trois  Fontaines,  which  is  just  beyond 
the  Grand  Duchy  frontier ;  and  you  shall  then  de 
liver  the  person  in  question  to  the  housekeeper 
of  the  hunting  lodge,  Marie  Bergner.  The  lodge 
is  called  Quellenheim,  and  it  belongs  to  me.  If 
I  am  not  there  you  must  remain  there  over  night. 
In  the  morning  if  you  do  not  hear  from  me,  you 
are  at  liberty  to  go  where  you  please,  and  your 
engagements  vis-a-vis  to  me  are  cancelled. 

VON  REITER,  Maj-Gen'l. 

The  inclosed  newspaper  clipping  had  been  translated 
into  French  and  written  out  in  long-hand.  The  trans 
lation  read  as  follows: 

Russia's  invasion  of  East  Prussia,  Posen  and 
Silesia  has  sent  a  wave  of  panic  over  the  eastern 
provinces  of  the  German  Empire,  if  reports  from 
Copenhagen  and  Stockholm  are  to  be  credited. 
These  reports  are  chiefly  significant  as  indicating 
that  the  Russian  advance  is  progressing  more  rap 
idly  than  has  been  asserted  even  by  despatches 
from  Petrograd. 

A  correspondent  of  the  Daily  Telegraph  reports 
from  Stockholm  that  the  whole  of  eastern  Ger- 

84 


TIPPEEAEY 


many  is  upset  by  the  menace  of  Cossack  raids. 
He  hears  that  a  diplomatic  despatch  from  Vienna 
contains  information  that  the  civilian  inhabitants 
of  Koenigsberg,  East  Prussia,  and  Breslau,  in 
Silesia,  are  abandoning  their  homes  and  that  only 
the  military  will  remain  in  these  strongholds. 

From  Copenhagen  it  is  reported,  allegedly  from 
German  sources,  that  Silesia  expects  devastation 
by  fire  and  sword  and  that  the  wealthy  Prussian 
landholders,  whose  immense  estates  cover  Silesia, 
are  leading  the  exodus  toward  the  west.  The  mili 
tary  authorities  have  done  everything  possible  to 
check  the  panic,  fearing  its  hurtful  influence  on 
Germany's  prospects,  but  have  been  unable  to  re 
assure  the  inhabitants.  Many  of  these  have  seen 
bands  of  Cossacks  who  have  penetrated  a  few 
miles  over  the  border  and  their  warnings  have 
spread  like  a  forest  fire. 

For  a  long  while  the  young  man  studied  the  letter, 
reading  and  re-reading  it,  until,  closing  his  eyes,  he 
could  repeat  it  word  for  word. 

And  when  he  was  letter  perfect  he  nodded  and  handed 
back  the  letter  to  the  hussar,  who  pouched  it. 

A  moment  later  the  car  ran  in  among  a  horde  of 
mounted  Uhlans,  and  one  of  their  officers  came  gallop 
ing  up  alongside  of  the  machine. 

He  and  the  bussar  whispered  together  for  a  few  min 
utes,  then  an  Uhlan  was  summoned,  a  white  cloth  tied 
to  bis  lance-shaft,  and  away  he  went  on  his  powerful 
horse,  the  white  flag  snapping  in  the  wind.  Behind 
bim  cantered  an  Uhlan  trumpeter. 

35 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


Toward  sunset  the  grey  automobile  rolled  west  out 
into  open  country.  A  vast  flat  plain  stretched  to  the 
horizon,  where  the  sunset  flamed  scarlet  and  rose. 

But  it  was  almost  dusk  before  from  somewhere  across 
the  plain  came  the  faint  strains  of  military  music. 

The  hussar's  immature  mustache  bristled.  "Brit 
ish!"  he  remarked.  "Gott  in  Himmel,  what  barbarous 
music !" 

Guild  said  nothing.  They  were  playing  "Tip- 
perary." 

And  now,  through  the  late  rays  of  the  afterglow,  an 
Uhlan  trumpeter,  sitting  his  horse  on  the  road  ahead, 
set  his  trumpet  to  his  lips  and  sounded  the  parley  again. 
Far,  silvery,  from  the  misty  southwest,  a  British  bugle 
answered. 

Guild  strained  his  eyes.  Nothing  moved  on  the  plain. 
But,  at  a  nod  to  the  chauffeur  from  the  hussar,  the 
great  grey  automobile  rolled  forward,  the  two  Uhlans 
walking  their  horses  on  either  side. 

Suddenly,  east  and  west  as  far  as  the  eye  could  see, 
trenches  in  endless  parallels  cut  the  plain,  swarming 
with  myriads  and  myriads  of  men  in  misty  grey. 

The  next  moment  the  hussar  had  passed  a  black  silk 
handkerchief  over  Guild's  eyes  and  was  tying  it  rather 
tightly. 


CHAPTER    IV 

BAD    DEEAMS 

HIS  first  night  in  London  was  like  a  bad  dream 
to  him.  Lying  half  awake  on  his  bed,  dog 
gedly,  tenaciously  awaiting  the  sleep  he  needed, 
at  intervals  even  on  its  vision-haunted  borderland,  but 
never  drifting  across  it,  he  remained  always  darkly  con 
scious  of  his  errand  and  of  his  sinister  predicament. 

The  ineffaceable  scenes  of  the  last  three  days  obsessed 
him;  his  mind  seemed  to  be  unable  to  free  itself.  The 
quieter  he  lay,  the  more  grimly  determined  he  became 
that  sleep  should  blot  out  these  tragic  memories  for  a 
few  hours  at  least,  the  more  bewildering  grew  the  con 
fusion  in  his  haunted  mind.  Continually  new  details 
were  evoked  by  his  treacherous  and  insurgent  memory 
— trifles  terrible  in  their  minor  significance — the  fright 
ened  boy  against  the  wall  snivelling  against  his  ragged 
shirt-sleeve — the  sprawling  attitudes  of  the  dead  men 
in  the  dusty  grass — and  how,  after  a  few  moments,  a 
mangled  arm  moved,  blindly  groping  —  and  what 
quieted  it. 

Incidents,  the  petty  details  of  sounds,  of  odours,  of 
things  irrelevant,  multiplied  and  possessed  him — the 

37 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


thin  gold-rimmed  spectacles  on  the  Burgomaster's  nose 
and  the  honest,  incredulous  eyes  which  gazed  through 
them  at  him  when  he  announced  checkmate  in  three 
moves. 

Did  that  tranquil  episode  happen  years  ago  in 
another  and  calmer  life? — or  a  few  hours  ago  in 
this? 

He  heard  again  the  startling  and  ominous  sounds  of 
raiding  cavalry  even  before  they  had  become  visible  in 
the  misty  street — the  flat  slapping  gallop  of  the  Uhlan's 
horses  on  the  paved  way,  the  tinkling  clash  of  broken 
glass.  Again  the  thick,  sour,  animal-like  stench  of  the 
unwashed  infantry  seemed  to  assail  and  sicken  him  to 
the  verge  of  faintness ;  and,  half  awake,  he  saw  a  world 
of  fog  set  thick  with  human  faces  utterly  detached  from 
limbs  and  bodies — thousands  and  thousands  of  faces 
watching  him  out  of  thousands  and  thousands  of  little 
pig-like  eyes. 

His  nerves  finally  drove  him  into  motion  and  he 
swung  himself  out  of  bed  and  walked  to  the  window. 

His  hotel  was  the  Berkeley,  and  he  looked  out  across 
Piccadilly  into  a  silent,  sad,  unlighted  city  of  shadows. 
Only  a  single  line  of  lighted  lamps  outlined  the  broad 
thoroughfare.  Crimson  sparks  twinkled  here  and  there 
— the  lights  of  cabs. 

The  great  darkened  Ritz  towered  opposite,  Devon 
shire  House  squatted  behind  its  grilles  and  shadowy 
walls  on  the  right,  and  beyond  the  great  dark  thorough 
fare  stretched  away  into  the  night,  melancholy,  deserted 
save  for  the  slight  stirring  of  a  policeman  here  and 

38 


BAD   DREAMS 


there  or  the  passage  of  an  automobile  running  in  silence 
without  lights. 

He  had  been  standing  by  the  window  for  ten  minutes 
or  so,  a  lighted  cigarette  between  his  lips,  both  hands 
dropped  into  the  pocket  of  his  pyjamas,  when  he  be 
came  aware  of  a  slight  sound — a  very  slight  one — 
behind  him. 

He  turned  around  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  knob  of 
the  door.  Whether  or  not  it  was  turning  he  could  not 
determine  in  the  dusk  of  the  room.  The  only  light  in 
it  came  through  his  windows  from  the  starry  August 
night-sky. 

After  a  moment  he  walked  toward  the  door,  bare 
footed  across  the  velvet  carpet,  halted,  fixed  his  eyes  on 
the  door  knob. 

After  a  moment  it  began  to  turn  again,  almost  im 
perceptibly.  And,  in  him,  every  over-wrought  nerve 
tightened  to  its  full  tension  till  he  quivered.  Slowly, 
discreetly,  noiselessly  the  knob  continued  to  turn.  The 
door  was  not  locked.  Presently  it  began  to  open,  the 
merest  fraction  of  an  inch  at  a  time ;  then,  abruptly  but 
stealthily,  it  began  to  close  again,  as  though  the  unseen 
intruder  had  caught  sight  of  him,  and  Guild  stepped 
forward  swiftly  and  jerked  the  door  wide  open. 

There  was  only  the  darkened  hallway  there,  and  a 
servant  with  a  tray  who  said  very  coolly,  "Thanky,  sir," 
and  entered  the  room. 

"What-do-y ou-want  ?"   asked  Guild   unsteadily. 

"You  ordered  whiskey  and  soda  for  eleven  o'clock, 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"I  did  not.  Why  do  you  try  to  enter  my  room  with 
out  knocking?" 

"I  understood  your  orders  were  not  to  disturb  you 
but  to  place  the  tray  on  the  night-table  beside  your  bed, 
sir." 

Guild  regarded  him  steadily.  The  servant,  clean 
shaven,  typical,  encountered  the  young  man's  gaze  re 
spectfully  and  with  no  more  disturbance  than  seemed 
natural  under  the  circumstances  of  a  not  unusual 
blunder. 

Guild's  nerves  relaxed  and  he  drew  a  deep,  quiet 
breath. 

"Somebody  has  made  a  mistake,"  he  said.  "I  ordered 
nothing.  And,  hereafter,  anybody  coming  to  my  door 
will  knock.  Is  that  plain  ?" 

"Perfectly,  sir." 

"Have  the  goodness  to  make  it  very  plain  to  the 
management." 

"I'm  sorry,  sir " 

"You  understand,  now?" 

"Certainly,  sir." 

"Very  well.  .  .  .  And,  by  the  way,  who  on  this  cor 
ridor  is  likely  to  have  ordered  that  whiskey?" 

"Sir?" 

"Somebody  ordered  it,  I   suppose?" 

"Very  likely  the  gentleman  next  door,  sir " 

"All  right,"  said  Guild  quietly.  "Try  the  door  while 
I  stand  here  and  look  on." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

With  equanimity  unimpaired  the  waiter  stepped  to 

40 


BAD   DREAMS 


the  next  door  on  the  corridor,  placed  his  tray  flat  on  the 
palm  of  his  left  hand,  and,  with  his  right  hand,  began 
to  turn  the  knob,  using,  apparently,  every  precaution 
to  make  no  noise. 

But  he  was  not  successful;  the  glassware  on  his  tray 
suddenly  gave  out  a  clear,  tinkling  clash,  and,  at  the 
same  moment  the  bedroom  door  opened  from  within 
and  a  man  in  evening  dress  appeared  dimly  framed  by 
the  doorway. 

"Sorry,  sir,"  said  the  waiter,  "your  whiskey,  sir " 

He  stepped  inside  the  room  and  the  door  closed  be 
hind  him.  Guild  quietly  waited.  Presently  the  waiter 
reappeared  without  the  tray. 

"Come  here,"  motioned  Guild. 

The  waiter  said:  "Yes,  sir,"  in  a  natural  voice. 
Doubtless  the  man  next  door  could  hear  it,  too. 

Guild,  annoyed,  lowered  his  own  voice :  "Who  is  the 
gentleman  in  the  next  room?" 

"A  Mr.  Vane,  sir." 

"From  where?" 

"I  don't  know,  sir." 

"What  is  he,  English?" 

"Yes  sir,  I  believe  so." 

"You  don't  happen  to  know  his  business,  do  you?" 

"No,  sir." 

"I  ask — it's  merely  curiosity.  Wait  a  moment."  He 
turned,  picked  up  a  sovereign  from  a  heap  of  coins  on 
his  night  table  and  gave  it  to  the  waiter. 

"No  need  to  repeat  to  anybody  what  I  have  asked 


you." 


41 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Oh,  no,  sir " 

"All  right.  Listen  very  attentively  to  what  I  tell 
you.  When  I  arrived  here  this  afternoon  I  desired  the 
management  to  hire  for  my  use  a  powerful  and  absolute 
ly  reliable  touring  car  and  a  chauffeur.  I  mentioned 
the  Edmeston  Agency  and  a  Mr.  Louis  Gratz. 

"Half  an  hour  later  the  management  informed  me  that 
they  had  secured  such  a  car  for  me  from  Mr.  Louis 
Gratz  at  the  Edmeston  Agency;  that  I  was  permitted 
sufficient  gasoline  to  take  me  from  here  to  Westheath, 
back  here  again,  and  then  to  the  docks  of  the  Holland 
Steamship  Company  next  Sunday. 

"I've  changed  my  mind.  Tomorrow  is  Wednesday 
and  a  steamer  sails  from  Fresh  Wharf  for  Amster 
dam.  Tell  the  management  that  I'll  take  that  steamer 
and  that  I  want  them  to  telephone  the  Edmeston 
Agency  to  have  the  car  here  at  six  o'clock  tomorrow 
morning." 

"Very  good,  sir." 

"Go  down  and  tell  them  now.  Ask  them  to  confirm 
the  change  of  orders  by  telephone." 

"Very  good,   sir." 

A  quarter  of  an  hour  later  the  bell  tinkled  in  his 
room:  "Are  you  there,  sir?  Thank  you,  sir.  The  car 
is  to  be  here  at  six  o'clock.  What  time  would  you  break 
fast,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"Five.    Have  it  served  here,  please." 

"Thank  you,  sir." 

Guild  went  back  to  bed.  Another  detail  bothered 
him  now.  If  the  man  next  door  had  ordered  whiskey 

42 


BAD   DREAMS 


and  soda  for  eleven,  to  be  placed  on  the  night-table  be 
side  the  bed,  why  was  he  up  and  dressed  and  ready  to 
open  the  door  when  the  jingle  of  glassware  awaited 
him? 

Still  there  might  be  various  natural  explanations. 
Guild  thought  of  several,  but  none  of  them  suited  him. 

He  began  to  feel  dull  and  sleepy.  That  is  the  last 
he  remembered,  except  that  his  sleep  was  disturbed  by 
vaguely  menacing  dreams,  until  he  awoke  in  the  grey 
light  of  early  morning,  scarcely  refreshed,  and  heard 
the  waiter  knocking.  He  rose,  unlocked  his  door,  and 
let  him  in  with  his  tray. 

When  the  waiter  went  out  again  Guild  relocked  his 
door,  turned  on  his  bath,  took  it  red  hot  and  then  icy. 
And,  thoroughly  awake,  now,  he  returned  to  his  room, 
breakfasted,  dressed,  rang  for  his  account,  and  a  few 
minutes  later  descended  in  the  lift  to  find  his  car  and 
chauffeur  waiting,  and  the  tall,  many-medalled  porter  at 
salute  by  the  door. 

"Westheath,"  he  said  to  the  smiling  chauffeur.  "Go 
as  fast  as  you  dare  and  by  the  direct  route." 

The  chauffeur  touched  his  peaked  cap.  He  seemed 
an  ideal  chauffeur,  neat,  alert,  smiling,  well  turned  out 
in  fact  as  the  magnificent  and  powerful  touring  car 
which  had  been  as  thoroughly  and  minutely  groomed 
as  a  race-horse  or  a  debutante. 

When  the  car  rolled  out  into  Piccadilly  the  waiter  who 
had  mistaken  the  order  for  whiskey,  watched  it  from  the 
dining-room  windows.  Several  floors  above,  the  man  who 
had  occupied  the  next  bedroom  also  watched  the  depar- 

4,3 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ture  of  the  car.  When  it  was  out  of  sight  the  man  whose 
name  was  Vane  went  to  the  telephone  and  called  150 
Fenchurch  Street,  E.  C.  It  was  the  office  of  the  Holland 
Steamship  Company. 

And  the  waiter  who  had  entered  the  room  unan 
nounced,  stood  listening  to  the  conversation  over  the 
wire,  and  finally  took  the  transmitter  himself  for  further 
conversation  while  Vane  stood  by  listening,  one  hand 
resting  familiarly  on  the  waiter's  shoulder. 

After  the  waiter  had  hung  up  the  receiver,  Vane 
walked  to  the  window,  stood  a  moment  looking  out,  then 
came  slowly  back. 

"Gwynn,"  he  said  to  the  waiter,  "this  man,  Guild, 
seems  to  be  harmless.  He's  known  at  the  American  Em 
bassy.  He's  an  American  in  the  real  estate  business  in 
New  York.  It's  true  that  Dart  telegraphed  from 
Ostend  that  Guild  came  to  our  lines  in  a  German  mili 
tary  automobile  under  a  white  flag.  But  he  told  a 
straight  story.  I'll  run  out  to  Westheath,  and  if  his 
business  there  is  clean  and  above-board,  I  think  we  can 
give  him  a  clean  bill  of  health." 

Gwynn  said,  slowly:  "I  don't  like  the  way  he  ques 
tioned  me  last  night.  Besides,  a  sovereign  is  too  much 
even  for  an  American." 

"He  might  have  been  afraid  of  robbery." 

"He  was  afraid  of  something." 

"Very  well.  We've  passage  on  the  boat  if  necessary. 
I'll  go  out  to  Westheath  anyway.  If  I  don't  care  for 
what  he  is  doing  out  there  we  can  hold  him  on  the  dock." 

"Another  thing,"   mused   Gwynn.     "The   Edmeston 

44 


BAD   DREAMS 


Agency  may  be  quite  all  right,  but  the  man's  name  is 
Gratz." 

"He's  been  under  scrutiny.    He  seems  to  be  all  right." 

"All  the  same — his  name  is  all  wrong.  What  was 
that  chauffeur's  name?" 

"Bush." 

"ButcM" 

"He  spells  it  without  a  c.  I  saw  his  signature  on  the 
Agency  rolls." 

"Have  you  his  history?" 

"He's  Canadian.     I've  sent  for  it." 

"You'll  find  that  his  father  spelled  his  name  with  a 
£,"  remarked  Gwynn,  gloomily.  But  Vane  only  laughed. 

"I'm  off,"  he  said.  "Stick  around  where  I  can  get 
you  on  the  telephone  if  necessary.  But  I  don't  think  it 
will  be  necessary." 

"I  do,"  muttered  Gwynn. 


CHAPTER  V 

KAREN 

THE  journey  was  the  usual  one  through  intermin 
able  London  streets  alternately  respectable  and 
squalid ;  and  straight  ahead  through  equally 
interminable    suburbs    with    their    endless    "terraces," 
semi-detached  and  detached  villas,  and  here  and  there  a 
fine  old  house  behind  neglected  garden  walls,  making  its 
last  forlorn  stand  against  the  all-destroying  inroad  of 
the  London  jungle. 

There  had  been  a  heavy  haze  in  London,  but  no  fog. 
In  the  country,  however,  beyond  the  last  outstretched 
suburban  tentacle  of  the  inky  octopus  the  morning  sun 
glimmered  low  through  a  golden  smother,  promising  a 
glimpse  of  blue  sky. 

To  Guild,  one  "heath"  has  always  resembled  another, 
and  now,  as  they  passed  through  the  country  at  high 
speed,  there  seemed  to  him  very  little  difference  between 
the  several  named  points  which  marked  his  progress 
toward  Westheath.  Hedges  alternated  with  ivy-covered 
walls  on  either  side  of  a  wide,  fine  road ;  trees  were 
splendid  as  usual,  sheep  fat,  cattle  sleek.  Here  and 
there  a  common  or  heath  glimmered  bewitchingly  where 

46 


KAREN 


sunlight  fell  among  the  whins ;  birds  winged  their  way, 
waters  glimmered,  and  the  clean,  singing  August  wind 
of  England  blew  steadily  in  his  face  strangely  reviving 
within  him  some  ancient,  forgotten,  pre-natal  wistful- 
ness.  Maybe  it  came  from  his  American  mother's  En 
glish  mother. 

Near  two  villages  and  once  on  the  open  highway 
policemen  leisurely  signalled  the  chauffeur  to  stop,  and 
came  sauntering  around  to  the  tonneau  to  question 
Guild  as  to  his  origin,  his  business,  and  his  destination ; 
quiet,  dignified,  civil,  respectable  men  they  seemed  to  be 
in  their  night  cloaks  and  their  always  smart  and  busi 
ness-like  helmets  and  uniforms. 

All  seemed  satisfied,  but  all  politely  suggested  that 
passports  were  now  becoming  fashionable  in  England. 
And  Guild  thanked  them  pleasantly  and  drove  on. 

"Bush,"  he  said  to  his  chauffeur,  "this  spy  scare  was 
ridiculed  by  the  newspapers,  but  it  looks  to  me  as 
though  it  were  being  taken  rather  seriously  after  all." 

"It  is,  sir." 

"I  understand  that  about  thirty  thousand  German 
and  Austrian  reservists  have  been  arrested  in  England 
since  war  began?" 

"I  hear  so,  sir." 

"I  suppose  the  country  really  is  swarming  with  spies. 
The  paper  yesterday  said  that  there  was  still  a  great 
and  serious  leakage  of  military  information  out  of  Eng 
land.  One  paper,  yesterday  afternoon,  reported  that  a 
number  of  spies  had  already  been  shot  in  the  Tower." 

"I  have  heard  so,  sir,"  said  the  chauffeur  smilingly. 

47 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


He  was  a  blond,  good-looking  young  fellow.  Always 
his  lips  seemed  to  rest  in  pleasant  curves  as  though  his 
reveries  were  agreeable. 

A  few  hideously  modern  detached  villas  were  passed, 
then  hedges,  walls,  a  wood,  a  modern  bridge. 

"How  near  are  we  to  Westheath  now?"  asked  Guild, 
leaning  forward  in  his  seat. 

"We  are  there,  sir."  And  the  smiling  chauffeur 
slowed  the  car  to  a  standstill  at  a  cross-roads  where 
furze  and  broom  grew  rankly  over  the  heath  and  a  few 
rather  tawdry  villas  appeared  among  the  trees  beyond. 

Guild  looked  at  his  watch.  It  was  only  a  little  after 
seven,  an  unearthly  hour  for  a  call  upon  any  young 
girl,  not  to  mention  one  to  whom  he  was  personally  un 
known. 

A  policeman  still  wearing  his  waterproof  night  cloak, 
came  leisurely  across  to  learn  what  was  wanted. 

"I  am  looking  for  the  villa  of  Miss  Girard — Miss 
Karen  Girard,"  explained  Guild. 

"Hyacinth  Villa,  Number  169.  Take  the  road  to 
the  right.  It  is  the  only  house." 

"Thank  you." 

The  car  moved  forward,  swung  to  the  right.  About 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away  stood  a  small,  modern  stucco 
dwelling  behind  its  hedge  of  privet.  Beyond  that  there 
were  woods  again  and  dewy  uplands  glimmering  with 
furze  and  brake. 

When  they  arrived  they  found  the  driveway  closed  by 
a  gate. 

"Never  mind ;  I'll  walk  to  the  house,"  said  Guild. 

48 


KAREN 


The  smiling  chauffeur  leaned  back  and  opened  the 
tonneau  door;  Guild  descended,  looked  at  the  iron  gate 
between  its  ugly  stucco  posts,  peered  through  it  up  the 
drive  with  its  parallel  rows  of  recently  planted  lime 
trees.  Everything  about  the  place  was  recent  if  not 
brand  new — ugly  with  the  ugliness  of  well-to-do  bad 
taste.  Red  geraniums  and  yellow  cannas  had  been 
planted  in  fearsome  juxtaposition,  salvia  flanked  a 
red  brick  terrace — a  most  unholy  combination  of  col 
our.  In  the  early  morning  the  sun  exposed  the  place 
without  mercy.  It  was  lonesome  and  amazingly  de 
pressing. 

Glancing  up  at  the  gate  again  he  discovered  a  nickel- 
plated  label  riveted  to  one  of  the  stucco  posts.  On  it 
was  the  name  of  the  place,  "Hyacinth  Villa,"  and  its 
number  169. 

There  was  no  lodge,  no  bell,  but  the  wicket  gate  was 
not  locked.  So  Guild  entered. 

"Shall  I  drive  up  to  the  house,  sir?"  inquired  the 
chauffeur. 

"Xo ;  wait  out  here." 

There  seemed  to  be  no  sign  of  life  about  the  house 
when  at  last  he  arrived  in  front  of  it — nobody  apparent 
ly  stirring  at  that  hour.  He  hesitated;  he  still  wore 
the  same  knickerbockers  and  cap  which  he  had  worn  in 
Belgium.  His  sack,  which  was  now  in  the  car,  con 
tained  only  fresh  linen ;  and  he  began  to  wonder  what 
his  reception  might  be  in  such  a  costume  and  at  such 
an  hour.  He  doubted  that  the  unconventionality  of  the 
daughter  of  a  Prussian  aristocrat  might  extend  far 

49 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


enough  to  accept  him,  his  rather  shabby  clothes,  and  his 
explanation  of  the  visit. 

It  was  all  very  well  for  this  young  girl  to  kick  over 
the  tradition,  cut  home  traces  in  the  sacred  cause  of  art, 
call  herself  Girard,  and  live  in  an  impossible  villa  for 
art's  sake.  Few  well-born  Frauleins  ever  did  this  sort 
of  thing,  but  there  had  been  instances.  And  anybody 
in  Germany  will  always  add  that  they  invariably  went  to 
the  devil. 

Guild  rang.  After  he  had  waited  long  enough  he 
rang  again.  After  that  he  resumed  his  ringing.  Keep 
ing  his  finger  pressed  on  the  electric  button  and  laying 
his  ear  to  the  door.  The  bell  was  doing  its  duty  inside 
the  house ;  he  could  hear  it. 

Presently  he  heard  a  fumbling  of  chains  and  locks 
inside,  the  door  opened  on  a  crack  and  a  sleepy  voice 
inquired:  "Is  it  you,  Anna?" 

Guild  hesitated :  "I  wish  to  see  Miss  Girard.  Is  she 
at  home?" 

"Who  are  you?"  demanded  the  voice  no  longer 
sleepy. 

"My  name  is  Guild.  I  am  sorry  to  disturb  Miss 
Girard  at  such  an  hour,  but  I  cannot  help  it.  Is  Miss 
Girard  in?" 

"Yes ;  I  am  Miss  Girard." 

"Are  you  Miss  Karen  Girard?" 

"Yes.     Why  do  you  wish  to  see  me?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  here.    Are  you  dressed?" 

There  was  a  pause,  then  she  said:     "No." 

"Please  dress  as  quickly  as  you  can.  Dress  for  travel." 

50 


KAREN 


"What!" 

"If  you  have  a  travelling  dress  put  it  on.  You  can 
pack  your  luggage  while  I  am  talking  to  you.  But  dress 
as  quickly  as  you  can  and  then  return  and  let  me  in." 

She  said  after  a  moment's  silence :  "I  certainly  shall 
not  do  any  of  those  things  until  I  know  more  about  you 
and  about  your  errand  here." 

"I  have  a  message  for  you  from  General  Baron  Kurt 
von  Reiter." 

"That  is  possible,"  she  said  quietly.  "What  is  the 
message?" 

"I  was  to  say  to  you  that  the  question  which  you  were 
to  decide  on  the  first  of  November  must  be  decided 
sooner." 

"I  must  have  clearer  proof  that  your  message  is  gen 
uine.  I  am  sorry  to  distrust  you  but  I  have  been  an 
noyed  lately." 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "Open  the  door  a  little  more. 
Don't  be  afraid.  I  merely  wish  you  to  look  at  a  ring 
which  I  wear.  I  want  you  to  draw  it  from  my  finger  and 
look  at  what  is  engraved  inside." 

There  was  another  silence.  Then  the  door  crack 
slowly  widened. 

"Please  extend  your  hand,"  she  said. 

There  was  just  enough  of  space  for  him  to  slip  his 
hand  between  door  and  frame  and  he  did  so.  There 
came  a  light,  soft  touch  on  his  ring-finger.  The  ring 
slipped  off. 

When  she  spoke  again  her  voice  was  altered:  "I 
shall  dress  immediately,"  she  said.  "I  shall  not  keep 

51 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


you  waiting  long.  You  will  find  the  door  open.  Please 
come  in  when  I  have  gone  upstairs." 

"Thank  you." 

He  could  hear  her  light,  flying  feet  on  the  stairs ;  he 
waited  a  little  longer,  then  opened  the  door. 

The  hallway  was  dark,  and  he  left  the  door  open, 
then  entered  the  room  to  the  left  which  seemed  to  be  a 
library,  music-room  and  living-room  combined.  Books, 
piano,  easy  chairs  and  sofas  loomed  in  the  dim  light  of 
drawn  curtains.  An  easel  on  which  stood  a  water-colour 
drawing  occupied  the  end  of  the  room,  and  beside  it  was 
a  table  on  which  were  porcelain  dishes,  tubes  of  colour 
and  scattered  badger  brushes. 

It  was  evident  that  Miss  Girard's  talents  were  mul 
tiple,  for  he  noticed  also  a  violin  and  music  stand  near 
the  piano,  and  on  the  violin  score  as  well  as  on  the  score 
spread  across  the  piano  the  same  hand  had  written 
"Karen  Girard." 

He  stood  by  the  table,  mechanically  picking  up,  one 
after  another,  the  books  lying  there.  Some  of  the  books 
were  printed  in  French,  some  in  German,  in  Italian,  in 
Danish,  in  Swedish,  in  English.  Miss  Girard's  name 
was  written  in  all  of  them.  Miss  Girard  appeared  to 
be  accomplished. 

In  the  dim  light  Guild  began  to  saunter  around  the 
room  encountering  various  evidences  of  Miss  Girard's 
taste  and  mode  of  living — one  or  two  Braun  photo 
graphs  of  Velasquez,  Boucher,  and  Gainsborough  on 
the  walls — certainly  a  Catholicism  of  taste  entirely  ad 
mirable; — one  or  two  graceful  bits  of  ancient  Chinese 

52 


"There  came  a  light,  soft  touch  on  his  ring-fingei 


KAREN 


art — blue  and  gold  marvels  of  Pekin  enamel;  a  mille- 
fleur  tapestry  panel,  a  bundle  of  golf  clubs,  a  tennis 
bat,  and  a  pair  of  spurs. 

He  thought  for  himself  that  when  a  girl  goes  in  for 
all  of  these  accomplishments  it  is  because  the  gods  have 
been  otherwise  unkind,  and  that  she  has  to. 

At  the  same  time  he  remembered  the  voice  he  had 
heard  through  the  scarcely  opened  door — the  lovely 
voice  of  a  young  English  girl — than  which  in  all  the 
world  there  is  nothing  half  so  lovely. 

And  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  there  had  not 
been  in  it  the  faintest  kind  or  trace  of  a  German  accent 
— that  only  its  childish  and  sleepy  sweetness  had  struck 
him  first,  and  then  its  purity  and  its  youthful  and 
cultivated  charm. 

Yes,  truly,  the  gods  had  been  kind  to  this  young 
German  girl  of  nineteen,  but  it  would  be  a  little  too 
much  to  ask  of  these  same  gods  that  they  endow  her 
with  figure  and  features  commensurate  with  her  other 
charms  and  talents. 

Then  he  suddenly  remembered  her  profession,  and 
that  she  was  studying  still  for  the  dramatic  profes 
sion.  And  he  knew  that  this  profession  naturally  re 
quired  exterior  charm  of  any  woman  who  desired  to 
embrace  it. 

While  these  ideas  and  speculations  were  occupying  his 
mind  he  heard  her  on  the  stairs,  and  he  turned  and  came 
forward  as  she  entered  the  room. 

She  was  a  slender,  straight  girl  of  medium  height; 
and  her  face  was  one  of  those  fresh  young  faces  which 

53 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


looked  fragrant.  And  instantly  the  thought  occurred 
to  him  that  she  was  the  vivid,  living  incarnation  of  her 
own  voice,  with  her  lilac-blue  eyes  and  soft  white  neck, 
and  the  full  scarlet  lips  of  one  of  those  goddesses  who 
was  not  very  austere. 

She  wore  a  loosely-belted  jacket  of  tan-coloured  cov 
ert-cloth,  and  narrow  skirts  of  the  same,  and  a  wide 
golden-brown  hat,  and  tan  spats.  The  gods  had  been 
very,  very  kind  to  Miss  Girard,  for  she  even  adorned  her 
clothes,  and  that  phenomenon  is  not  usual  in  Great 
Britain  or  among  German  Frauleins  however  accom 
plished  and  however  well  born. 

She  said :  "I  beg  your  pardon  for  detaining  you  so 
long  on  the  outside  door-step.  Since  the  war  began  my 
maid  and  I  have  been  annoyed  by  strangers  telephoning 
and  even  coming  here  to  ask  silly  and  impertinent  ques 
tions.  I  suppose,"  she  added,  disdainfully,  "it  is  be 
cause  there  is  so  much  suspicion  of  foreigners  in  Eng 
land." 

"I  quite  understand,"  he  said.  "Being  German,  your 
neighbors  gossip." 

She  shrugged  her  indifference. 

"Shall  we  talk  here?"  she  asked  gravely,  resting  one 
very  white  hand  on  the  back  of  a  chair.  "You  come 
from  General  Baron  Kurt  von  Reiter.  The  ring  is  a 
credential  beyond  dispute." 

"We  can  talk  anywhere  you  wish,"  he  said,  "but  there 
is  little  time,  and  somebody  must  pack  a  traveller's 
satchel  for  you.  Have  you  a  maid?" 

"She  went  to  London  yesterday  evening.     She  was  to 

94 


KAREN 


have  returned  on  the  eleven  o'clock  train  last  night.  I 
can't  understand  it." 

"Are  you  alone  in  the  house?" 

"Yes.  My  cook  sleeps  out.  She  does  not  come  until 
half-past  nine.  My  maid  serves  my  breakfast." 

"You  haven't  had  any,  then?" 

"No." 

"Can  you  fix  something  for  yourself?" 

"Yes,  of  course.     Shall  I  do  so  now?" 

"Yes.  I'll  go  to  the  kitchen  with  you  while  you  are 
doing  it.  There  are  several  things  to  say  and  the  time 
is  short." 

She  led  the  way ;  he  opened  the  kitchen  shutters  and 
let  in  the  sunshine,  then  stood  a  moment  watching  her 
as  she  moved  about  the  place  with  graceful  celerity,  pre 
paring  cocoa  over  an  alcohol  lamp,  buttering  a  roll  or 
two  and  fetching  cup,  plate,  spoon  and  marmalade. 

"Have  you  breakfasted?"  she  asked,  looking  at  him 
over  her  shoulder. 

"Yes — it  is  very  good  of  you " 

"There  will  be  plenty  of  cocoa  and  rolls — if  you  care 
for  them.  The  rolls  are  yesterday's  and  not  fresh." 

She  poured  the  cocoa  in  two  cups  and  looked  at  him 
again  in  grave  invitation. 

"You  are  sure  there  is  plenty?"  he  asked,  smilingly. 

"Plenty." 

"Then — I  do  seem  to  be  rather  hungry." 

He  drew  a  chair  for  her;  she  seated  herself  and  ate 
with  a  youthful  appetite.  He  drank  his  cocoa,  ate  his 
rolls,  and  tried  not  to  look  at  her  too  often. 


55 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"This  is  why  I  am  here,"  he  said.  "I  saw  General 
Baron  von  Reiter  four  days  ago  under  somewhat  ex 
traordinary  circumstances. 

"He  told  me  that  since  the  war  broke  out  he  had  not 
been  able  to  communicate  directly  with  you  or  to  get  you 
out  of  England,  and  he  asked  me  to  find  you  and  bring 
you  to  his  estate  at  Trois  Fontaines  in  Luxembourg." 

"To  Quellenheim  ?"  she  asked,  surprised  and  dis 
turbed.  "Is  he  there?" 

"No,  he  is  with  a  field  army,  and  he  does  not  know 
where  orders  from  staff  headquarters  may  send  him." 

"Still,"  she  said,  hesitating,  "I  should  think  that  he 
might  wish  me  to  go  to  Silesia " 

"Silesia  is  threatened  by  the  Russian  army." 

"Silesia!"  she  repeated,  incredulously.  "Cossacks  in 
Silesia?"  She  sat,  her  cup  of  cocoa  half  raised  to  her 
lips,  her  surprised  and  disconcerted  eyes  on  his.  Then 
she  set  the  cup  aside. 

"He  wishes  me  to  go  to  Quellenheim?     With  you?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

"Travelling  on  the  continent  is  precarious." 

Her  eyes  rested  on  his ;  she  said  with  a  candour  which 
he  began  to  understand  was  characteristic  of  her :  "He 
seems  to  have  confidence  in  you.  I  never  heard  him 
speak  of  you.  You  are  American?" 

"Yes." 

"That  is  odd.     He  never  cared  for  Americans." 

Guild  said:  "He  could  not  send  a  German  into  Eng 
land." 

56 


KAREN 


"That  is  true.  Nor  an  Englishman  either.  No  Eng 
lishman  would  be  likely  to  do  anything  to  oblige  a  Ger 
man." 

She  rose :  "I  don't  understand  why  Anna,  my  maid, 
is  still  absent,"  she  added  uneasily.  "My  maid  often 
goes  to  London,  but  never  before  has  she  remained  over 
night.  I  don't  know  why  she  remained.  She  knew  I 
was  alone  in  the  house." 

She  lifted  her  serious  blue  eyes  to  Guild,  then  gazed 
out  of  the  window,  evidently  perplexed  to  the  point  of 
apprehension. 

"I  am  worried,"  she  said,  "very  much  worried.  But 
that  doesn't  help,  does  it?" 

"What  was  her  errand  in  London?"  asked  Guild. 

"She  has  a  brother  there.  I  suppose  it's  all  right  or 
she  would  have  telephoned  me." 

He  said :  "No  doubt  it  is  all  right.  And,  may  I  ask 
you  to  hasten?" 

She  rose :    "Where  am  I  to  go  with  you  ?" 

"To  London  and  then  to  the  steamer." 

"Today?" 

"Today  is  Wednesday.  No  other  Holland  Line  boat 
sails  for  Amsterdam  before  Sunday,  and  I  have  yet 
our  passage  to  secure  and  I  must  also  go  to  the  War 
Office  for  a  few  moments.  You  see  we  have  very  little 
time." 

"But  I  can't  pack  my  boxes  then?" 

"You  will  have  to  leave  them." 

"You  mean  I  may  take  only  a  satchel?" 

"A  suit-case  and  satchel  if  you  wish.     Leave  a  note 

57 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


for  your  maid  instructing  her  to  send  by  express  what 
ever  else  you  wish  sent  after  you." 

"Is  this  haste  necessary,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"Yes,  it  is.  I  want  to  get  out  of  England.  I  am  not 
sure  that  I  can  get  out  if  we  wait  until  Sunday." 

"Why  not?" 

"I  may  be  detained.  I  may  not  be  permitted  to  leave 
with  you.  All  foreigners  are  under  more  or  less  sus 
picion.  I  am  rather  sure  that  I  have  been  under  sur 
veillance  already  at  the  Berkeley  Hotel." 

They  had  moved  out  into  the  hall  together  while 
he  was  speaking,  and  now,  together,  they  went  up  the 
stairs. 

"If  you  don't  mind,"  she  said,  "my  room  is  in  dis 
order,  but  I'll  have  to  pack  there  and  you  will  have  to 
sit  there  if  you  wish  to  talk  to  me." 

It  was  a  white  and  chintz  room  in  dainty  disorder. 

She  went  away  and  returned  in  a  moment  or  two  with 
a  satchel  and  suit-case.  These  she  placed  on  the  bed, 
opened,  and  then,  dragging  out  various  drawers  of  chif 
fonier  and  chest,  began  to  transfer  her  apparel  to  the 
two  bags. 

"I  am  extremely  sorry,"  he  said,  "to  hurry  you  so 
inconveniently." 

"I  don't  mind,"  she  replied,  busy  with  her  packing. 
"You  see  I  am  an  actress  and  I  have  travelled  with  a 
company  in  the  provinces.  That  was  an  experience!" 
She  turned  her  pretty  head  and  looked  at  Guild.  "I 
had  no  maid  then,  except  at  the  theatres  where  we 
played,  and  I  had  to  share  her  with  three  other  girls. 

58 


KAREN 


Really,  Mr.  Guild,  it  taught  me  how  to  pack  things 
rather  rapidly." 

Her  white  hands  were  flying  as  she  folded  and  placed 
garment  after  garment  in  the  suit-case,  serene,  self- 
possessed,  quite  undisturbed  by  his  presence  at  the 
rather  intimate  display  of  her  apparel. 

The  garments  were  bewilderingly  frail  to  him;  she 
tucked  and  packed  them  into  place;  a  faint  fresh  scent 
seemed  to  freshen  the  place. 

He  said:  "I  don't  think  we  are  going  to  have  any 
trouble  about  leaving  England.  But,  if  any  trouble 
does  arise,  would  you  have  sufficient  confidence  in  me  to 
do  what  I  say?" 

She  continued  her  packing  for  a  few  moments  with 
out  replying,  then  turned  and  looked  at  him. 

And  at  the  same  moment  the  telephone  on  the  table 
beside  her  bed  tinkled. 

"There  is  Anna  now!"  she  exclaimed  with  the  em 
phasis  of  relief.  "Will  you  pardon  me?  No,  I  don't 
mean  you  are  to  leave  the  room " 

She  lifted  the  receiver:  "Yes,  I  am  here.  .  .  . 
Yes,  this  is  Miss  Girard.  Yes,  Miss  Karen  Girard.  .  .  , 
Mr.  Louis  Gratz?  Oh,  good  morning!" 

At  the  name  of  the  man  with  whom  she  was  speaking 
Guild  turned  around  surprised.  At  the  same  instant 
the  girl's  face  flushed  brightly  as  she  sat  listening  to 
what  the  distant  Mr.  Gratz  was  saying  to  her. 

Guild  watched  her;  perplexity,  surprise,  a  deeper 
flush  of  consternation,  all  were  successively  visible  on 
her  youthful  face. 

59 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Yes,"  she  said  t'o  Mr.  Gratz.  "Yes,  I  will  do  what 
ever  he  wishes.  .  .  .  Yes,  he  is  here — here  in  my 
room  with  me.  We  were  talking  while  I  packed.  Yes,  I 
will  do  so."  And,  turning  her  head  a  little  she  said  to 
the  young  man  behind  her :  "The  Edmeston  Agency  de 
sires  to  speak  to  you." 

He  rose  and  took  the  receiver  from  her  hand  and  bent 
over  beside  her  listening. 

"Are  you  there?"  inquired  a  pleasant  voice. 

"Yes." 

"I  am  Gratz  of  the  Edmeston  Agency.  Get  that 
young  lady  out  of  the  house  at  once.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"Yes." 

"Her  maid  is  in  trouble.  This  agency  may  be  in 
trouble  at  any  moment.  She  must  not  wait  to  pack. 
Get  her  into  the  car  and  take  her  to  the  wharf  and  on 
board  at  once.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Take  her  as  your  wife.    Do  you  understand  ?" 

"I  understand  what  you  say,"  he  said,  amazed. 

"That  is  sufficient.  Do  as  I  tell  you  if  you  want  to 
leave  England." 

"Very  well.  But  I  must  first  go  to  the  War 
Office " 

"No !" 

"I  must!" 

"No.  It  is  useless ;  hopeless.  It  would  have  been  the 
thing  to  do  yesterday.  An  explanation  there  would 
have  given  you  credentials  and  security.  But  not  to- 

60 


KAREN 


day.  She  could  not  hope  to  leave.  Do  you  under 
stand?" 

"No,  but  I  hear  you." 

"She  could  not  expect  permission  to  leave  because  her 
maid  has  been  arrested." 

"What !" 

"Yes!    The  charge  is  most  serious." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Get  into  your  car  with  the  young  lady  and  start  at 
once.  Don't  go  to  the  steamship  office  in  Fenchurch 
Street.  Don't  go  to  the  War  Office.  Go  nowhere  except 
to  the  wharf.  Your  passage  has  been  secured  as  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Kervyn  Guild  of  New  York.  The  initials  on 
the  baggage  will  be  K.  G.  Your  steamer  tickets  will  be 
handed  to  you.  You  will  pay  no  attention  to  the  man 
who  hands  them  to  you,  no  attention  to  anybody.  You 
will  go  aboard  and  go  to  your  cabin  until  the  ship  is  out 
at  sea.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Perfectly." 

"Good-bye." 


CHAPTER    VI 

MR.    AND    MRS. 

GUILD  hung  up  the  receiver,  stood  a  moment  in 
thought  then  turned  around  and  looked 
gravely  at  the  girl  behind  him.  She  gazed 
back  at  him  as  though  still  a  trifle  breathless  after  some 
sudden  shock. 

"What  did  that  man  say  to  you  over  the  wire?"  he 
asked  in  pleasant,  even  tones. 

"He  told  me  to  trust  you,  and  do  what  you  told  me 
to  do.  He  said  Anna,  my  maid,  had  been  arrested." 

"Who  is  he?"  asked  Guild  grimly. 

"Do  you  mean  Mr.  Gratz?" 

"Yes;  who  is  Mr.  Gratz?" 

"Don't  you  know  him?"  she  said,  astonished. 

"I  have  never  laid  eyes  on  him.  Your  father  recom 
mended  to  me  the  Edmeston  Agency  and  mentioned  the 
name  of  a  Louis  Gratz  who  might  be  of  use  to  me. 
That  is  all  I  know." 

"My — father — you  say?" 

"Certainly,  General  Baron  von  Reiter." 

"Oh!  .  .  .  Then  it  must  be  quite  all  right.  Only 
— I  don't  understand  about  my  maid " 

62 


MR.    AND   MRS. 


"Did  Mr.  Gratz  tell  you  she  had  been  arrested?" 

"Yes." 

"On  a  serious  charge?" 

"Yes." 

"Have  you  any  idea  what  that  charge  may  be?"  he 
asked,  studying  her  face 

"I  haven't  any  idea,"  she  said;  "have  you?" 

"I  don't  know;  perhaps  I  have.  Is  your  maid  Ger 
man?" 

"Yes." 

"You  brought  her  with  you  from  Germany?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  did  you  get  her?" 

"General  von  Reiter's  housekeeper  found  her  for 
me." 

He  hesitated,  still  looking  steadily  into  those  violet 
blue  eyes  of  hers  which  seemed  to  question  him  so  can 
didly.  No,  there  could  be  no  dishonesty  there. 

"Miss  Girard,"  he  said,  "I  find  that  I  am  going  to- 
be  very  much  more  frank  with  you  than  there  once 
seemed  any  occasion  for  being.  I  am  also  going  to  say 
something  to  you  that  may  possibly  offend  you.  But 
I  can't  help  it.  It  is  this :  Have  you,  through  your  let 
ters  to  or  from  your  father,  imparted  or  received  any 
military  intelligence  which  might  be  detrimental  to- 
Great  Britain  or  to  her  allies  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  am  I  a  sort  of  spy?"  she  asked,  flush 
ing  to  the  roots  of  her  hair 

"In  substance  it  amounts  to  that.  And  I  shall  have 
to  ask  you  to  answer  me.  And  I'll  tell  you  why  I 

63 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ask.  I  didn't  intend  to  tell  you ;  my  personal  and  pri 
vate  affairs  did  not  concern  you.  But  they  do  now. 
And  these  happen  to  be  the  facts  in  my  case:  I  was 
taken  prisoner  in  Belgium  by  the  cavalry  forming  the 
advance  of  your  father's  command.  It  happened  four 
days  ago;  I  was  sentenced  to  military  execution,  led 
out  for  that  purpose,  reprieved  by  your  father  himself 
on  condition  that  I  undertake  to  find  you  and  conduct 
you  safely  to  Trois  Fontaines  near  the  Grand  Duchy  of 
Luxembourg. 

"If  I  am  unsuccessful  in  the  undertaking,  I  am 
pledged  to  go  back  voluntarily  and  face  a  firing  squad. 
If  I  am  successful  I  am  permitted  to  go  free,  and  so  are 
my  fellow-hostages.  And  the  little  town  where  I  was 
arrested  is  to  be  spared." 

He  passed  one  hand  over  his  eyes,  thoughtfully,  then, 
looking  at  her  very  seriously : 

"There  seemed  to  be  no  reason  why  an  honorable 
man  might  not  accept  such  terms.  I  accepted  them. 
But — things  have  happened  here  which  I  neither  un 
derstand  nor  like.  And  I've  got  to  say  this  to  you ;  if 
my  taking  you  back  to  your  father  means  any  detri 
ment  to  England  or  to  the  cause  England  represents — - 
in  other  words,  if  your  returning  to  him  means  the  im 
parting  to  him  of  any  military  information  gathered 
here  by  you,  then — I  won't  take  you  back ;  that's  all !" 

After  a  moment,  half  to  herself,  she  said :  "He  really 
thinks  me  a  spy.  I  knew  it !" 

"I  don't  think  so.  I  am  merely  asking  you !"  he  re 
torted  impatiently.  "There  is  something  dead  wrong 

64 


MR.   'AND   MRS. 


here.  I  was  intending  to  go  to  the  War  Office  to  tell 
them  there  very  frankly  about  my  predicament,  and  to 
ask  permission  to  take  you  back  in  order  to  save  my 
fellow-hostages,  the  village,  and  my  own  life;  and  now 
a  man  named  Gratz  of  whom  I  know  nothing  calls  me 
on  the  telephone  and  warns  me  not  to  go  to  the  War 
Office  but  to  get  you  out  of  England  as  soon  as  I  can 
do  it. 

"What  am  I  to  think  of  this?  What  does  this  man 
Gratz  mean  when  he  tells  me  that  your  maid  has  been 
arrested  on  a  serious  charge  and  that  the  Edmeston 
Agency  of  a  German  automobile  is  in  danger?" 

The  girl  stood  very  still  with  one  slender  hand  rest 
ing  on  her  satchel,  her  face  pale  and  quietly  serious, 
her  brows  bent  slightly  inward  as  though  she  were  try 
ing  to  remember  something  or  to  solve  some  unpleasant 
problem  not  yet  plain  to  her. 

"One  thing  is  clear,"  she  said  after  a  moment,  lift 
ing  her  candid  eyes  to  his;  "and  that  is,  if  you  don't 
take  me  back  certain  friends  of  yours  will  be  executed 
and  a  village  in  which  you  seem  interested  will  be 
destroyed." 

"If  taking  you  back  means  any  harm  to  England," 
he  said,  "I  won't  take  you." 

"And — your  friends?     What  becomes  of  them?" 

"My  friends  and  the  village  must  take  the  same 
chances  that  I  do." 

"What  chances?  Do  you  mean  to  go  back  without 
me?" 

"I  said  I  would,"  he  replied  drily. 

65 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"You  said  that  if  you  went  back  without  me  they'd 
execute  you." 

"That's  what  I  said.  But  there's  no  use  in  speculat 
ing  on  what  is  likely  to  happen  to  me  if  I  go  back 
without  you.  If  you  don't  mind  I  think  we  had  better 
start  at  once.  We  have  had  our  warning  from  this  man 
Gratz." 

He  gave  her  a  searching  glance,  hesitated,  then 
apparently  came  to  an  abrupt  conclusion. 

"Miss  Girard,"  he  said  coolly,  "your  father  once 
took  a  good  look  at  me  and  then  made  up  his  mind 
about  me.  And  he  was  not  mistaken ;  I  am  what  he  be 
lieves  me  to  be.  Now,  I  also  have  seen  you,  and  I've  made 
up  my  mind  concerning  you.  And  I  don't  expect  to  be 
mistaken.  So  I  say  to  you  frankly  I  am  an  enemy  to 
Germany — to  your  country — and  I  will  not  knowingly 
aid  her — not  to  save  my  own  skin  or  the  skins  of  any 
body  else.  Tell  me  then  have  you  any  military  knowl 
edge  which  you  intend  to  impart  to  your  father?" 

"No,"  she  said. 

"Have  you  any  suspicion  that  your  maid  has  been 
involved  in  any  such  risky  business?" 

"I  have  no  knowledge  of  anything  military  at  all.  I 
don't  believe  my  maid  has,  either." 

"You  can  recall  no  incident  which  might  lead  you  to 
believe  that  your  maid  is  engaged  in  that  sort  of 
affair?" 

The  girl  was  silent.  He  repeated  the  question.  She 
said:  "Anna  has  complained  of  being  followed.  I 
have  already  told  you  that  she  and  I  have  been  an- 

66 


MR.   AND   MRS. 


noyed  by  impertinent  telephone  calls  and  by  strange 
men  coming  here.  Do  you  suppose  they  were  from 
Scotland  Yard?" 

"Possibly.  Have  you  any  suspicion  why  your  maid 
has  been  arrested?"  he  persisted.  She  hesitated;  her 
straight  brows  knitted  slightly  again  as  though  in  a 
perplexed  effort  to  remember  and  to  understand.  Then 
she  looked  up  at  Guild  out  of  troubled  eyes  and  shook 
her  head: 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know — whatever  my  sus 
picions  may  be " 

"Suspicions !" 

"My  personal  suspicions  could  scarcely  concern  you, 
Mr.  Guild." 

The  snub  was  direct ;  he  reddened. 

"Very  well,"  he  said.  "What  you  say  gives  me  a 
decent  chance  for  life."  He  drew  a  quick  breath  of  re 
lief.  "I'm  mighty  glad,"  he  said;  "I  have — have  seen 
men  die.  It  isn't — an — agreeable  sight.  I  think  we'd 
better  go." 

"In  a  moment." 

She  took  her  satchel  and  went  into  another  room 
with  it,  closing  the  intervening  door.  She  was  gone 
only  a  few  seconds.  When  she  returned  she  had  locked 
the  satchel;  he  closed  and  strapped  her  suit-case  and 
took  it  in  his  hand.  Together  they  descended  the  stair 
way  and  started  through  the  lower  hall. 

And  what  occurred  there  happened  like  lightning. 

For,  as  he  passed  the  door  of  the  darkened  living 
room,  a  man  jumped  out  behind  him  and  threw  one 

67 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


arm  around  his  throat,  and  another  man  stepped  in 
front  of  him  and  snapped  a  pair  of  handcuffs  on  his 
wrists. 

It  was  not  even  a  struggle ;  Guild  was  being  held  too 
tightly.  The  girl  shrank  back  against  the  wall,  flatten 
ing  herself  against  it,  staring  dumbly  at  the  proceeding 
as  though  stunned.  She  did  not  even  cry  out  when  the 
man  who  had  handcuffed  Guild  turned  on  her  and 
caught  her  by  the  elbow. 

"Come  along  quietly,  miss,"  he  began,  when  suddenly 
his  voice  died  out  in  a  groan  and  he  crumpled  up  on 
the  floor  as  Bush,  the  chauffeur,  sprang  from  the  pas 
sage-way  behind  him  and  struck  him  with  something 
short  and  heavy. 

The  man  who  had  thrown  his  arm  around  Guild's 
throat  from  behind,  flung  his  handcuffed  victim  aside 
and  whipped  out  a  revolver,  but  the  chauffeur  knocked 
it  out  of  his  fist  and  hit  him  in  the  face  two  heavy,  merci 
less  blows,  hurling  him  senseless  across  the  stairs.  And 
all  the  while  the  blond  young  chauffeur  was  smiling  his 
fixed  and  murderous  smile.  And  he  was  like  a  tiger  now 
in  every  movement  as  he  knelt,  rummaged  in  the  fallen 
men's  pockets,  found  the  key  to  the  handcuffs,  leaned 
over  and  unlocked  them  as  Guild  held  out  his  manacled 
hands. 

"Please  watch  them,  sir,"  he  said  cheerfully.  "I 
must  find  a  curtain  or  something " 

He  ran  into  the  living-room,  ripped  off  a  long  blue 
curtain,  tore  it  into  strips  with  his  powerful  blond 
hands,  grinning  cheerfully  all  the  while. 

68 


•g  g 

p  - 

-       y 


1   » 


1 1 


MR.   'AND   MRS. 


"Best  to  tie  them  up,  sir — this  way — allow  me,  sir — 
this  is  the  better  way — the  surer " 

Guild,  working  hard,  he  scarcely  knew  why,  felt  a 
touch  on  his  arm. 

"Are  they  dead?"  whispered  Karen  Girard  unsteadily. 

"No— stunned." 

"Are  they  robbers?" 

The  blond  chauffeur  looked  up,  laughed,  then  rolled 
a  strip  of  cloth  into  a  ball  for  a  gag. 

"I'm  not  entirely  sure  what  they  are,"  said  Guild. 
"I'll  tell  you  what  I  think  when  we're  in  the  car." 

The  chauffeur  completed  his  business,  looked  over  the 
results  of  his  efforts  critically,  rose  to  his  feet,  still 
smiling. 

"Now,  sir,  if  you  please — and  madam — "  And  he 
possessed  himself  of  the  luggage. 

"Take  the  door-key,  if  you  please,  sir.  Lock  it  on 
the  outside.  Thank  you.  This  way,  if  you  please,  sir. 
I  took  it  upon  myself  to  bring  the  car  up  to  the  kitchen 
entrance." 

The  car  stood  there;  the  bags  were  flung  in;  Karen 
Girard  stepped  into  the  tonneau;  Guild  followed.  At 
the  same  moment  a  woman  appeared,  coming  along  the 
brick  walk. 

"My  maid  of  all  work,"  exclaimed  Karen.  "What 
shall  I  say  to  her?" 

"Anything,  madam,  but  send  her  home,"  whispered 
Bush. 

The  girl  leaned  from  the  car  and  called  out:  "I 
have  locked  the  house  and  am  going  away  for  the 

69 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


day,  Mrs.  Bulger.     Please  come  tomorrow,  as  usual." 

The  woman  thanked  her,  turned  and  went  away  again 
down  the  brick  walk.  They  watched  her  out  of  sight. 

"Now!"  said  Guild  to  the  chauffeur,  "drive  to  the 
Holland  steamship  wharf  at " 

"I  know,  sir,"  smiled  the  blond  chauffeur. 

Which  reply  troubled  the  young  man  exceedingly, 
for  it  was  evident  to  him  now  that,  if  not  herself  a  spy, 
this  young  girl  in  his  charge  was  watched,  surrounded 
and  protected  by  German  agents  of  a  sinister  sort — 
agents  known  to  her  father,  in  evident  communication 
with  him,  and  thoroughly  informed  of  the  fact  that  he 
wanted  his  daughter  to  leave  England  at  once  and 
under  the  particular  escort  of  Guild. 

Nor  had  Guild  the  slightest  doubt  that  the  two  men 
who  had  followed  and  handcuffed  him  were  British  Gov 
ernment  agents,  and  that  if  this  young  girl's  maid  had 
really  been  arrested  for  espionage,  and  if  the  Edmeston 
people,  too,  were  suspected,  then  suspicion  had  been 
also  directed  toward  Miss  Girard  and  naturally  also  to 
him,  who  was  her  visitor. 

Guild's  troubled  gaze  rested  once  more  upon  the 
young  girl  beside  him.  At  the  same  moment,  as  though 
he  had  spoken  to  her  she  turned  and  looked  at  him  out 
of  eyes  so  honest,  so  fearless  that  he  had  responded 
aloud  before  he  realized  it :  "It's  all  right.  I  know  you 
are  not  deceiving  me." 

"No,"  she  said,  "I  am  not.  But  could  you  tell  me 
what  all  this  means — all  this  that  has  happened  so 
swiftly,  so  terribly " 

70 


MR.   AND   MRS. 


"I  have  a  pretty  clear  idea  what  it  means.  .  .  .  It's 
just  as  well  that  those  detectives  did  not  arrest  me. 
.  .  .  Tell  me,  did  you  ever  before  see  this  chauffeur, 
Bush?" 

"Never,  Mr.  Guild." 

He  nodded;  he  was  slowly  coming  to  a  definite  con 
clusion  concerning  the  episode  but  he  kept  his  own  coun 
sel.  She  said  in  a  low,  embarrassed  voice:  "You  think 
me  cowardly.  I  know  it.  But  I  really  didn't  know  what 
to  do." 

She  was  very  much  in  earnest,  very  intent  on  his 
expression,  and  he  did  not  dare  smile. 

"What  could  you  have  done,  Miss  Girard?"  he  asked, 
pleasantly. 

"I  don't  know.  I — I  felt  as  though  we — you  and  I — 
were  allies — and  that  I  ought  to  help  you.  But  it  all 
passed  too  quickly " 

"There  was  nothing  you  could  have  done  for  me,"  he 
smiled. 

She  said  reflectively:  "I  myself  don't  quite  see  how 
I  could  have  helped  matters.  But  I  didn't  wish  you  to 
believe  me  afraid  to  help  you." 

He  looked  into  her  wistful  eyes  smilingly:  "Some 
how,"  he  said,  "I  don't  believe  you  are  really  very  much 
afraid  of  anything." 

A  slight  shudder  passed  over  her.  "Violence  is  new 
to  me.  I  am  not  very  experienced — not  very  old  you 
know.  And  I  never  saw  men  fight.  And  when" — she 
lowered  her  voice — "when  that  chauffeur  struck  them 
so  heavily — so  dreadfully — I — I  have  never  seen  men 

71 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


fight  like  that — strike  each  other  in  the  face  as  though 
they — they  meant  murder " 

"Don't  think  of  it  now,  Miss  Girard.  You  must 
keep  your  nerve."  He  forced  a  laugh;  "you'll  need 
all  your  composure,  too,  because  I've  got  something 
to  tell  you  which  you  won't  like.  Shall  I  tell  you 
now?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"Then — the  man,  Gratz,  says  that  you  must  go 
aboard  that  steamer  as  my  wife." 

The  girl  looked  at  him  bewildered.  "Somebody,"  con 
tinued  Guild,  "has  taken  passage  for  us  as  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Kervyn  Guild.  Gratz  warned  me.  My  name  is  Kervyn. 
Yours  is  Karen.  Our  initials  are  alike.  If  there  is 
any  suspicion  directed  toward  us  there  are  the  initials 
on  your  satchel  and  suit-case — and  presumably  on  your 
clothing.  Do  you  understand?" 

"Yes." 

"Do  you  mind?" 

"I  mind  a  little — yes.  But  I'll  do  what  is  necessary," 
she  said,  confused. 

"I  think  it  is  necessary.  This  man  Gratz  who  seems 
to  know  more  about  my  business  than  I  do,  tells  me  so. 
I  believe  he  is  right." 

She  raised  her  tragic  eyes  to  his  but  said  nothing. 

He  leaned  nearer  to  her  and  spoke  in  a  low  voice : 

"I've  been  trying  to  reason  it  out,"  he  said,  "and 
I'll  tell  you  what  my  conclusion  is :  A  German  automo 
bile  took  me  to  the  British  lines  under  a  white  flag.  No 
doubt  Government  agents  had  been  informed  by  tele- 

72 


MR.   AND   MRS. 


graph  and  they  followed  me  as  soon  as  I  landed  on  Eng 
lish  soil. 

"At  the  Berkeley  Hotel  I  felt  very  sure  that  I  was 
being  watched.  Now,  it  appears,  that  this  maid  of 
yours  has  been  arrested,  and,  from  what  I  suspect  in 
regard  to  the  Edmeston  Agency — the  agency  to  which 
your  father  directed  me — I  feel  very  certain  that  some 
how  your  maid  has  been  involved  in  the  espionage  main 
tained  here  by  the  German  Government. 

"That  chauffeur  in  front  of  us  is  from  the  Edmeston 
garage ;  you  see  what  he  did  to  those  two  detectives ! 
It's  very  plain  to  me  now  that,  innocent  as  you  are,  you 
never  will  be  permitted  to  leave  England,  even  if  they 
don't  arrest  you,  unless  you  can  get  out  today  with 
me. 

"And  if  you  don't  leave  England  it  means  for  me 
something  very  serious.  It  means  that  I  shall  have  to 
keep  my  word  and  go  back  alone." 

"I  know,"  she  nodded,  looking  up  at  him  very 
earnestly. 

He  said  without  the  slightest  dramatic  emphasis :  "It 
really  does  mean  my  death,  Miss  Girard.  I  think, 
knowing  your  father,  that  there  could  be  no  possible 
hope  for  me  if  I  go  back  there  without  you.  .  .  .  And 
so,  knowing  that,  I  am  naturally  most  anxious  to  clear 
out  of  England  while  I  can  do  so — get  away  from  here 
with  you — if  I  can  take  you  with  a  clear  conscience. 
And" — he  looked  at  her,  "I  feel  that  I  can  do  that  be 
cause  you  have  told  me  that  you  have  gathered  no  in 
formation  for  the  enemies  of  England.  And" — he 

73 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


smiled — "to  look  into  your  face,  Miss  Girard,  is  to 
believe  you." 

Some  of  the  pretty  color  faded  from  her  cheeks ;  she 
said:  "You  asked  me  if  I  were  a  spy.  I  am  not.  You 
asked  me  if,  knowingly,  I  carry  any  military  informa 
tion  which  might  aid  the  enemies  of  England.  And  I 
answered  you  that,  knowingly,  I  do  not  carry  any  such 
information." 

"That  is  sufficient,"  he  concluded,  smilingly. 

"No,  it  is  not  sufficient,"  she  said.  "I  wish  to  say  a 
little  more.  Let  me  go  to  Trois  Fontaines  alone.  I  am 
accustomed  to  travel.  There  is  no  need  to  involve  you. 
As  long  as  I  arrive  there  what  difference  does  it  make 
whether  or  not  you  accompany  me?" 

"I  promised  to  accompany  you." 

"You  promised  that  I  should  arrive  safely  at  Trois 
Fontaines.  It  doesn't  matter  whether  you  accompany 
me.  Please — please  don't.  I  had  rather  you  did 
not  go." 

He  said,  gravely:  "I  know  how  you  must  feel  about 
travelling  as  my  wife " 

"It  isn't  that." 

"What  is  it  then?"  he  asked,  surprised. 

"I  don't  wish  you  to  take  the  risk  of  travelling  with 
me." 

"What  risk?  The  worst  that  could  happen  to  you 
would  be  your  arrest  and  detention.  If  you  are  not  a 
spy,  you  can  not  be  proven  one." 

Her  blue  eyes  gazed  absently  out  across  the  sunny 
landscape  through  which  they  were  speeding. 

74 


MR.    AND   MRS. 


"You  are  not  a  spy,"  he  replied;  "what  risk  do  you 
run_orl?» 

She  said,  still  gazing  into  the  sunlit  distance :  "What 
is  done  to  spies — if  they  are  caught?" 

"It  usually  means  death,  Miss  Girard." 

"I  have — "  she  swallowed,  caught  her  breath, 
breathed  deeply ;  then — "I  have  heard  so.  ...  It  is 
possible  that  I  might  be  suspected  and  detained.  .  .  . 
I  had  rather  you  did  not  attempt  to  go  with  me.  .  .  . 
Because — I  do  not  wish  you  to  get  into  any  difficulty — 
on  my — account." 

"Nothing  serious  could  happen  to  either  you  or  me 
through  anything  that  you  have  done." 

"I  am  not  sure." 

"I  am,"  he  said.  And  added  in  a  lower  voice :  "It  is 
very  generous  of  you — very  kind." 

Her  own  voice  was  lower  still :  "Please  don't  go  with 
me,  Mr.  Guild.  Let  me  go  to  the  wharf  alone.  Let  me 
take  my  chances  alone.  If  there  is  any  difficulty  they 
will  arrest  you,  too.  And  if  I — were  convicted " 

"You  could  not  be.  That  is  utterly  impossible. 
Don't  think  of  such  things,  Miss  Girard." 

"I  must  think  of  them.  Will  you  tell  me  something?" 
She  turned  and  looked  at  him  curiously,  almost  wist 
fully. 

"I  want  to  ask  you  something.  You — you  said  to 
me  that  if  you  thought  me  a  spy,  you  would  not  help 
me  to  escape  from  England.  You  said  so,  didn't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"You  mean  it,  don't  you?" 

75 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"I  am  afraid  I  do." 

"Why?  You  are  not  English.  You  are  an  Ameri 
can.  America  is  neutral.  Why  are  you  an  enemy  to 
Germany?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  why,"  he  said 

66 Are  you  an  enemy  to  Germany?" 

"Yes— a  bitter  one." 

"And  if  I  were  a  spy,  trying  to  escape  from  Eng 
land — trying  to  escape — death — you  would  refuse  to 
help  me?" 

She  had  turned  entirely  toward  him  on  the  seat  beside 
him;  her  child-like  hands  clasped  on  the  robe  over  her 
knees,  her  child-like  face,  pale,  sweet,  wistful,  turned  to 
his. 

"Would  you  abandon  me?"  she  asked. 

"The  situation  is  impossible " 

"Yes,  but  tell  me." 

"I  don't  care  to  think  of  such  a " 

"Please  answer  me.  Is  your  partisanship  so  bitter 
that  you  would  wash  your  hands  of  me — let  me  go  to 
my  death? — go  to  your  own,  too,  rather  than  help  me?" 

"Miss  Girard,  you  are  losing  your  composure " 

"No ;  I  am  perfectly  composed.  But  I  should  like 
to  know  what  you  would  do  under  such  circumstances 
with  a  girl  nineteen  years  old  who  stood  in  danger  of 
death." 

"I  can't  tell  you,"  he  said,  perplexed  and  impatient. 
"I  can't  tell  now  what  I  might  do." 

"Would  you  denounce  me?" 

"No,  of  course  not." 

76 


MB.   AND   MRS. 


"Would  you  feel — sorry?" 

"Sorry i"  He  looked  at  her;  "I  should  think  I 
would!" 

"Sorry  enough  for  me  to  help  me  get  away?" 

"Yes." 

"Even  if  I  carried  military  information  to  Germany  ?" 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  searchingly  for  a  moment. 
"Yes,"  he  said ;  "I'd  do  what  I  could  for  you  to  get  you 
out  of  England." 

"Even  if  I  had  lied  to  you?" 

"You  couldn't  lie  to  anybody." 

"But  if  I  could?  If  I  have  lied  and  you  found  it 
out,  would  you  still  try  to  help  me  to  get  away?" 

"You  are  asking  something  that " 

"Yes,  you  can  answer  it.  You  can  think  a  while  first 
and  then  answer.  I  want  you  to  answer.  I  want  to 
know  what  you'd  do  with  me." 

"You  make  it  a  personal  matter?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  want  to  know  what  you'd  do  in  theory ; 
I  wish  you  to  tell  me  what  you,  personally,  would  do 
with  me,  Karen  Girard,  if  you  believed  me  to  be  a  spy, 
and  if  you  came  to  the  conclusion  that  I  had  lied  to 
you." 

"Why  do  you  ask  all  this?  You  are  over-wrought, 
unstrung " 

"I  am  absolutely  mistress  of  myself.  And  I  wish  to 
know  what  you  would  do  with  me?,  Would  you  let  me 
die?" 

"No." 

"You'd  stand  by  me  still?" 

77 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Yes.  There's  no  use  mincing  matters.  Yes,  I 
would." 

"You'd  help  me  to  leave  England?" 

"Yes." 

"Why?" 

There  fell  a  silence  between  them,  and  his  face  slowly 
reddened. 

"I  am  not  sure  why,"  he  said  slowly. 

"lam.     Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Yes,  tell  me,"  he  said,  forcing  himself  to  meet  her 
clear  gaze. 

"Very  well,  I'll  tell  you.  It  is  because  we  are  friends. 
And  that  is  the  real  truth.  I  realize  it.  From  the  very 
beginning  it  was  a  friendship,  without  effort,  instantly 
and  mutually  understood.  Is  it  not  true?" 

"Yes." 

"And  that — the  instant  liking — was  the  basis  for  our 
confidence  in  each  other.  Was  it  not?" 

"It  must  have  been.  I  trusted  you  without  hesita 
tion." 

"And  I  you.  .  .  .  And  I  did  tell  you  the  truth.  .  .  . 
But  not  all  of  it." 

"What  have  you  left  untold?"  he  asked. 

"Enough  to — to  frighten  me — a  little.  I  am  begin 
ning  to  be  afraid — just  enough  afraid  to  feel  troubled 
— rather  deeply  troubled  about — you." 

"About  me!" 

"Because — we  are  friends.  I  don't  understand  how  it 
has  happened  so  quickly.  But  it  has  happened  to  us — 
hasn't  it?" 

78 


MR.   AND   MRS. 


"Yes,"  he  said,  "it  has.  I — I  am  already — devoted 
to — our  friendship." 

"I  am,  too.  It  seems  odd,  doesn't  it.  I  have  had  no 
friends  among  men.  This  is  new  to  me.  I  don't  know 
what  to  do  about  it.  I  want  to  be  so  loyal  about  it — 
I  wish  to  be  what  a  man — such  a  man  as  you  are — de 
sires  of  a  friend — what  he  requires  of  friendship  .  .  . 
Do  you  understand?  I  am  really  a  trifle  bewildered — • 
with  the  surprise  and  pleasure  of  friendship — and  with 
its  obligations.  .  .  .  But  I  am  very  sure  that  unselfish 
ness  is  one  of  its  obligations  and  that  truth  is  another." 

"Both  are  part  of  you." 

"They  seem  to  be  now.  And  so — because  we  are 
friends — don't  go  to  the  wharf  with  me.  Because  I 
think  I  may  be — arrested.  And  if  I  am — it  may  go 
hard  with  me." 

She  said  it  so  gently,  and  her  eyes  were  so  clear  and 
sweet  that  for  a  moment  he  did  not  grasp  the  subtler 
significance  of  her  appeal. 

"You  can't  be  involved  seriously,"  he  insisted. 

"I'm  afraid  it  is  possible." 

"How?" 

"I  can  only  guess  how.  I  may  be  wrong.  But  I 
dare  not  risk  involving  you." 

"Can't  you  tell  me  a  little  more?" 

"Please  don't  ask." 

"Very  well.     But  I  shall  not  leave  you." 

"Please." 

"No.    You  ask  too  little  of  friendship." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  ask  too  much.     Let  me  get  clear  of 

79 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


this  affair  if  I  can.  If  I  can't — let  me  at  least  remem 
ber  that  I  have  not  involved  you  in  my — ruin." 

"Your  ruin !" 

"Yes.  It  may  come  to  that.  I  don't  know.  I  don't 
know  exactly  what  all  this  tangle  means — what  really 
threatens  me,  what  I  have  to  dread.  But  I  am  afraid — 
afraid!"  Her  voice  became  unsteady  for  a  moment 
and  she  stared  straight  ahead  of  her  at  the  yellow  haze 
which  loomed  nearer  and  nearer  above  the  suburbs  of 
London. 

He  slipped  one  arm  under  hers,  quietly,  and  his  hand 
fell  over  both  of  hers,  where  they  rested  clasped  tightly 
on  her  lap. 

"This  won't  do,"  he  said  coolly.  "You  are  not  to 
be  frightened  whatever  happens.  We  must  go  through 
with  this  affair,  you  and  I.  I  know  you  have  plenty  of 
courage." 


"Yes — except  about  you— 
"I  stand  or  fall  with  you." 
"Please,  you  must  not- 


"I  must  and  shall.  Within  the  next  few  minutes  you 
must  regain  your  composure  and  self-command.  Will 
you?" 

"Yes." 

"Because  our  safety  may  depend  on  your  coolness." 

"I  know  it." 

"Will  you  remember  that  we  are  married?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  it  be  difficult  for  you  to  carry  out  that  role?" 

"I — don't  know  what  to  do.    Could  you  tell  me?" 

80 


ME.   'AND   MRS. 


"Yes.  If  you  speak  to  me  call  me  by  my  first  name. 
Do  you  remember  it?" 

"Kervyn,"  she  said. 

"You  won't  forget?" 

"No." 

"I  think  you  had  better  say  'no,  dear.'     Try  it." 

"No— dear." 

"Try  it  again." 

"No,  dear." 

"Letter  perfect,"  he  said,  trying  to  speak  lightly. 
"You  see  you  look  about  seventeen,  and  it's  plain  we 
couldn't  have  been  married  very  long.  So  it's  safer  to 
say  'yes,  dear,'  and  4no,  dear,'  every  time.  You  won't 
forget,  Karen,  will  you?" 

She  flushed  a  trifle  when  her  name  fell  from  his  lips. 
"No,  dear,"  she  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"And  if  anybody  addresses  you  as  Mrs.  Guild — will 
you  try  to  be  prepared  ?" 

"Yes — dear.     Yes,  I  will — Kervyn." 

He  laughed  a  trifle  excitedly.  "You  are  perfect — • 
and  really  adorable  in  the  part,"  he  said.  And  his 
nervous  excitement  in  the  imminence  of  mutual  danger 
subtly  excited  her. 

"I  ought  to  do  it  well,"  she  said ;  "I  have  studied 
dramatic  art  and  I  have  had  some  stage  experience. 
It's  a  part  and  I  must  do  it  well.  I  shall,  really — 
Kervyn,  dear." 

He  laughed;  the  dangerous  game  was  beginning  to 
exhilarate  them  both,  and  a  vivid  colour  began  to  burn 
in  her  delicate  cheeks. 

81 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Suddenly  the  blond  chauffeur  pulled  the  car  up  along 
the  curb  in  a  crowded  street  and  stopped. 

"It  is  better,  sir,  to  take  a  hansom  from  here  to  the 
wharf." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Yes,  sir.  .  .  .  Pardon,  sir,  here  are  passports 
for  madam  and  yourself."  And  he  handed  the  papers 
very  coolly  to  Guild. 

The  young  man  changed  colour,  realizing  instantly 
that  the  papers  were  forged. 

"Had  I  better  take  these?"  he  asked  under  his  breath. 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Bush,  smiling  his  eternal  smile  and 
opening  the  car  door  for  them. 

Guild  descended.  Bush  set  the  luggage  on  the  curb, 
touched  his  cap,  and  said:  "Walk  south,  sir,  until  a 
cabby  hails  you.  Good-bye,  sir.  A  pleasant  trip, 
madam."  And  he  sprang  back  into  the  car,  started  it, 
and  rolled  away  grinning  from  ear  to  ear. 

Guild  took  the  luggage  in  both  hands ;  Karen  walked 
beside  him.  At  the  end  of  the  square  the  driver  of  a 
hansom  held  up  one  hand  inquiringly,  then  smiled  and 
drew  in  to  the  curb. 

"Fresh  Wharf,  sir?"  asked  the  cabby. 

"Yes,"  said  Guild,  calmly,  red  with  surprise. 

"Thanks,  sir.    I  understand  all  about  it." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE  SATCHEL 

IT  was  only  a  short  drive  to  Fresh  Wharf  by  London 
Bridge.  A  marching  column  of  kilted  Terri 
torials  checked  them  for  a  while  and  they  looked 
on  while  the  advanced  guard  of  civilians  surged  by,  fol 
lowed  by  pipers  and  then  by  the  long  leaf-brown  col 
umn  at  a  smart  swinging  stride. 

When  the  troops  had  passed  the  hansom  moved  on 
very  slowly  through  the  human  flotsam  still  eddying  in 
the  wake  of  the  regiment ;  and  after  a  few  more  minutes 
it  pulled  up  again  and  Guild  sprang  out,  lifted  the 
young  girl  to  the  sidewalk,  and  handed  the  fare  to  the 
driver. 

The  latter  leaned  over  and  as  he  took  the  coins  he 
thrust  a  parcel  into  Guild's  hands.  "Your  change,  sir," 
he  said  genially,  touched  his  top  hat  and  drove  off,  look 
ing  right  and  left  for  another  fare. 

Guild's  surprised  eyes  fell  on  the  packet.  It  con 
tained  two  steamer  tickets  strapped  together  by  a  rub 
ber  band. 

Pushing  through  the  throng  where  policemen,  wharf 
officials  and  soldiers  in  khaki  were  as  numerous  as  civ- 

83 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ilians,  Guild  finally  signalled  a  porter  to  take  the  lug 
gage  aboard.  Karen  retained  her  satchel.  A  brief 
scrutiny  of  his  tickets  detained  them  for  a  moment,  then 
the  porter  led  them  up  the  gang-plank  and  aboard  and 
a  steward  directed  them  to  their  stateroom.  At  the 
same  moment  a  uniformed  official  stepped  up  to  Guild. 

"Sorry  to  trouble  you,  sir,"  he  said  politely,  "but 
may  I  have  your  name?" 

"My  name  is  Kervyn  Guild." 

The  official  glanced  over  the  steamer  list.  "You  have 
papers  of  identification,  Mr.  Guild?" 

Guild  handed  him  his  forged  passports.  The  official 
took  them,  glanced  at  Karen,  at  the  luggage  which  the 
porter  bore. 

"Where  do  you  go  from  Amsterdam,  Mr.  Guild?" 

"Through  Holland." 

"Naturally.     And  then?" 

"To  the  Grand  Duchy." 

"Luxembourg  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Where  in  Luxembourg?" 

"I  have  been  invited  to  visit  friends." 

"Where?" 

"At  Lesse  Forest." 

"Where  is  that?" 

"Partly  in  the  Duchy,  partly  in  Belgium." 

"Who  are  your  friends?" 

"Mrs.  and  Miss  Courland  of  New  York  and  a  Mr. 
Darrel." 

"Madam  goes  with  you?" 

84 


THE   SATCHEL 


"Yes." 

The  official  began  to  unfold  the  passports,  while  he 
looked  sideways  at  the  luggage.  Holding  the  passports 
partly  open  in  one  hand  he  pointed  to  Karen's  satchel 
with  the  other. 

"Please  open  that,"  he  said,  and  began  to  examine 
the  passports.  A  deadly  pallour  came  over  the  girl's 
face ;  she  did  not  stir.  Guild  turned  to  glance  at  her 
and  was  stricken  dumb.  But  she  .found  her  speech. 
"Dear,"  she  said,  with  white  lips,  "would  you  mind 
stepping  ashore  and  getting  me  something  at  a  chem 
ist's?"  And  under  her  breath,  pressing  close  to  him: 
"Go,  for  God's  sake.  I  am  afraid  I  shall  be  arrested." 
A  terrible  fear  struck  through  him. 

"The  satchel !"  he  motioned  with  his  lips. 

"Yes.    Go  while  you  can.    Go — go — dear." 

"I'll  be  back  in  a  moment,  Karen,"  he  said,  coolly 
took  the  satchel  from  the  porter,  turned  with  it  to 
ward  the  gang-plank. 

The  official  raised  his  eyes  from  the  passport  he  was 
scanning. 

"One  moment,  sir,"  he  said. 

"I'll  be  back  directly,"  returned  Guild,  continuing  on 
his  way. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Mr.  Guild  ?" 

"To  a  chemist's." 

"Be  kind  enough  to  leave  that  satchel  and  remain 
here  until  I  have  finished,"  said  the  official  coldly.  And 
to  Karen:  "Mrs.  Guild,  will  you  kindly  open  that  bag?" 

"Certainly.     I  have  the  key  somewhere" — searching 

85 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


in  her  reticule.  And  as  she  searched  she  lifted  her  eyes 
to  Guild.  Her  face  was  dead  white. 

"Dearest,"  she  said  in  a  steady  voice,  "will  you  go 
to  the  chemist's  while  I  am  opening  my  bag.  I  must 
have  something  for  this  headache." 

Her  agonized  eyes  said:  "Save  yourself  while  you 
can ;  I  am  caught !" 

But  Guild  turned  and  came  back  to  her,  close,  stand 
ing  beside  her. 

"I'll  open  the  luggage,"  he  said  quietly.  "You  had 
better  step  ashore  and  get  what  you  need."  And,  in  a 
whisper :  "Go  straight  to  the  American  Ambassador  and 
tell  him  everything." 

She  whispered :  "No ;  I  beg  of  you  go.  I  beg  of  you, 
Kervyn." 

He  shook  his  head  and  they  stood  there  together ;  he 
grave  and  silent,  assailed  by  a  terrible  premonition ;  she 
white  as  death,  mechanically  fumbling  in  her  reticule 
with  slim,  childish  fingers. 

The  official  was  deeply  immersed  in  the  passports  and 
continued  so  even  when  Karen's  tremulous  fingers  held 
the  key.  "Give  it  to  me,"  whispered  Guild. 

"No — "  She  beckoned  the  porter,  took  the  satchel, 
and  at  the  same  moment  the  official  looked  up  at  her, 
then  holding  both  passports,  came  over  to  where  they 
were  standing. 

"Your  papers  are  in  order,  Mr.  Guild,"  he  said. 
"Now,  Mrs.  Guild,  if  you  will  open  your  satchel " 

"I'll  attend  to  that,  Holden,"  broke  in  a  careless 
voice,  and  the  satchel  was  taken  out  of  Karen's  hands 

86 


THE   SATCHEL 


by  a  short,  dark  young  man  in  uniform.  "I  want  you 
to  go  forward  and  look  at  a  gentleman  for  The  Hague 
who  has  no  papers.  He's  listed  as  Begley.  Do  you 
mind?" 

"Right,"  said  Holden.  "Here,  Mitchell,  these  papers 
are  satisfactory.  Look  over  Mr.  Guild's  luggage  and 
come  forward  when  you're  finished.  What's  his  name? 
Begley?" 

"Yes,  American.    I'll  be  with  you  in  a  moment." 

Holden  hastened  forward;  Mitchell  looked  after  him 
for  a  moment,  then  calmly  handed  back  the  unopened 
satchel  to  Karen  and  while  she  held  it  he  made  a  mark 
on  it  with  a  bit  of  chalk. 

"I  pass  your  luggage,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  stoop 
ing  and  marking  the  suit-case  and  Guild's  sack.  "You 
have  nothing  to  fear  at  Amsterdam,  but  there  are  spies 
on  this  steamer.  Best  go  to  your  cabin  and  stay  there 
until  the  boat  docks." 

The  girl  bent  her  little  head  in  silence;  the  porter 
resumed  the  luggage  and  piloted  them  aft  through  an 
ill-lighted  corridor.  When  he  came  to  the  door  of  their 
cabin  he  called  a  steward,  took  his  tip  from  Guild, 
touched  his  cap  and  went  away. 

The  steward  opened  the  stateroom  door  for  them, 
set  the  luggage  on  the  lounge,  asked  if  there  was  any 
thing  more  he  could  do?  was  told  that  there  was  not,  and 
took  himself  off. 

Guild  locked  the  door  after  him,  turned  and  looked 
down  at  the  girl,  who  had  sunk  trembling  upon  the 
lounge. 

87 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"What  is  there  in  that  satchel?"  he  asked  coldly. 

"I  don't  know." 

"What!"  he  said  in  a  contemptuous  voice. 

"Kervyn — my  friend — I  do  not  know,"  she  stam 
mered. 

"You  must  know !    You  packed  it !" 

"Yes.     But  I  do  not  know.     Can't  you  believe  me?" 

"How  can  I?  You  know  what  you  put  into  that 
satchel,  don't  you?" 

"I — put  in  toilet  articles — night  clothes — money." 

"What  else?  You  put  in  something  else,  didn't  you? 
Something  that  has  made  you  horribly  afraid !" 

"Yes." 

"What  is  it?" 

"Kervyn — I  don't  'know  what  it  is.  I  must  not  know. 
It  is  a  matter  of  honour." 

"If  you  don't  know  what  it  is  you  carry  in  that 
satchel  you  evidently  suspect  what  it  might  prove  to 
be," 

"Yes." 

"You  have  very  strong  suspicions  ?" 

"Yes,  I  have." 

"Why  did  you  take  such  a  thing?" 

"I  promised." 

"Whom?" 

"I  can't  tell  you.  It  is  a  matter  of  honour.  I — I 
didn't  want  to  involve  you  if  things  turned  badly.  I 
asked  you  to  leave  me.  .  .  .  Even  at  the  last  moment 
I  tried  to  give  you  a  chance  to  go  ashore  and  escape. 
Kervyn,  I've  tried  to  be  honourable  and  to  be  loyal  to 

88 


THE   SATCHEL 


you  at  the  same  time.  I've  tried — I've  tried — "  Her 
childish  voice  faltered,  almost  broke,  and  she  turned  her 
head  sharply  away  from  him. 

He  dropped  onto  the  lounge  beside  her,  sick  with 
anxiety,  and  laid  his  hand  over  hers  where  it  lay  in  her 
lap. 

"I'm  afraid  that  you  have  papers  in  that  satchel 
which  might  mean  the  end  of  the  world  for  you,"  he 
said  under  his  breath.  "God  alone  knows  why  you  carry 
them  if  you  suspect  their  contents.  .  .  .  Well,  I  won't 
ask  you  anything  more  at  present.  ...  If  your  con 
science  acquits  you,  I  do.  I  do  anyway.  You  have 
given  me  plenty  of  chances  to  escape.  You  have  been 
very  plucky,  very  generous  to  me,  Karen." 

"I  have  tried  to  be,"  she  said  unsteadily.  "You  have 
been  far  too  kind  to  me,  Kervyn.  .  .  .  I — I  don't  mean 
to  tremble  so.  I  think  I  am  feeling  the — the  reaction." 

"Lie  down.    I  am  afraid  I'll  have  to  stay  here " 

"Yes ;  don't  go  out  on  deck.  Don't  take  any  more 
risks.  .  .  .  I'll  lie  down  if  I  may."  She  rose,  looked 
around  with  eyes  still  darkly  dilated  by  fear: 

"Oh!"  she  breathed — "if  we  were  only  out  of  British 
waters !" 

He  looked  at  his  watch,  and  at  the  same  moment  a 
deep  blast  from  the  steamer  vibrated  through  the  cabin. 

"They've  cast  off,"  he  said  calmly. 

The  girl  had  flung  herself  on  the  bed  and  buried  her 
face  in  the  pillow.  Her  brown  velvet  hat  had  fallen 
to  the  floor,  her  thick  brown  hair  clustered  in  glossy 
disorder  over  neck  and  cheek.  One  slim  hand  clutched 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


convulsively  a  tiny  handkerchief  crushed  into   a  ball. 

"We  have  every  chance  now,"  he  said  very  gently, 
bending  over  the  pillow — "barring  a  wireless  to  some 
British  guard-ship.  Don't  give  way  yet,  Karen."  He 
laid  a  cool,  firm  hand  over  hers  and  tried  to  speak  jest 
ingly.  "Wait  until  there's  no  danger  at  all  before  you 
go  all  to  pieces,"  he  whispered. 

As  he  bent  above  her,  he  became  conscious  of  the 
warm  fragrance  of  tears.  But  no  sound  came,  not  a 
quiver.  And  after  a  while  he  went  over  to  the  sofa  and 
sat  down,  staring  at  the  locked  satchel  on  the  floor, 
vaguely  aware  that  the  boat  wTas  in  steady  motion. 

"Karen,"  he  said  after  a  moment. 

"Yes— dear." 

"You  know,"  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh,  "you  needn't 
say  it  when  we're  alone — except  for  practice." 

"Yes,  dear,  I  know." 

"May  I  ask  you  something?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"Did  you  know  that  official  named  Mitchell?" 

"Yes." 

"Who  was  he?" 

"Mr.  Gratz." 


CHAPTER  VIII 


AT    SEA 


THE  funnel  smoke  blew  low,  burying  the  after- 
decks,  and  a  hurricane  of  scud  and  spindrift 
swept  everything  forward,  drenching  the 
plunging  steamer  to  the  bridge.  Stanchions,  davits, 
hatches  were  all  a-dip,  decks  a-wash,  and  the  Dutch  en 
sign  whipping  aloft  in  a  thick  grey  sky  that  seemed 
to  speed  astern  as  though  in  chase  of  the  heaving  grey 
waste  of  waters  that  fled  away  beneath. 

Here  and  there  a  trawler  tossed  and  rocked;  lean, 
melancholy  wanderers  on  the  face  of  the  waters;  twice 
the  raking  stacks  of  destroyers,  smothered  in  foam, 
dashed  eastward  running  full  speed  on  some  occult  trail 
twixt  sky  and  sea. 

The  grey  world  grew  duller,  duller;  one  by  one  the 
blinding  searchlights  on  coast-guard  ships  broke  out, 
sweeping  sky  and  ocean  as  though  in  desperate  appeal 
to  the  God  above  and  in  menacing  warning  to  the  devils 
that  lurked  below. 

For  they  said  the  North  Sea  was  full  of  them ;  legions 
of  them  tossed  broadcast  from  the  black  hell  of  some 
human  mind.  And  beneath  them,  deeper,  lying  as  still 

91 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


as  death  on  the  Channel's  floor,  waited  the  human  sub 
marines  in  unseen  watery  depths — motionless,  patient, 
awaiting  the  moment  to  strike. 

Night  came;  the  white  level  glare  of  searchlights 
flooded  the  steamer,  lingered,  shifted,  tossed  their  daz 
zling  arms  heavenward  as  though  imploring  the  Most 
High,  then  swept  unseen  horizons  where  the  outermost 
waters  curve  with  the  curving  globe. 

Only  one  light  burned  in  the  stateroom,  but  the  port 
was  not  covered. 

Karen  lay  on  the  bed,  unstirring  save  for  a  slight 
tremor  of  her  shoulders  now  and  then.  Her  brown  hair, 
half  loosened,  had  fallen  in  thick  burnished  curls  on 
the  pillow ;  one  hand  covered  her  eyes,  palm  outward. 
Under  it  the  vivid  lips,  scarcely  parted,  rested  on  each 
other  in  a  troubled  curve. 

Guild  brooded  silently  on  the  lounge  under  the  port. 
Sometimes  his  sombre  gaze  rested  on  her,  sometimes  on 
the  locked  satchel  which  had  rolled  to  the  side  of  the 
bed. 

Every  time  the  arrowy  beam  of  light  from  a  war 
ship  flooded  the  cabin  with  swift  white  splendour  his 
heart  seemed  to  stop,  for  the  menace  of  the  wireless  was 
always  a  living  dread;  and  the  stopping  of  a  neutral 
ship  and  the  taking  from  it  of  suspects  had  become  a 
practice  too  common  even  to  excite  comment,  let  alone 
protest. 

Twice  they  were  stopped;  twice  Ardoise  signals 
twinkled;  but  no  cutter  came  alongside,  and  no  officer 

92 


AT   SEA 


boarded  them.  It  was  an  eternity  of  suspense  to  Guild, 
and  he  stood  by  the  open  port,  listening,  the  satchel 
in  his  hand  ready  to  fling  it  out  into  the  turmoil  of 
heaving  waters. 

The  steward  came,  and  Guild  ordered  something 
served  for  them  both  in  the  stateroom.  Karen  had  not 
awakened,  but  her  hand  had  slipped  from  her  eyes 
and  it  lay  across  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

On  the  bridal  finger  glimmered  the  plain  gold  band — 
his  credentials  to  her  from  her  father. 

He  went  over  and  looked  down  into  the  white,  child- 
ish  face.  Faultless,  serene,  wonderful  as  a  flower  it 
seemed  to  him.  Where  the  black  lashes  rested  the  curve 
of  the  cheek  was  faintly  tinted  with  colour.  All  else 
was  snowy  save  for  the  vivid  rose  of  the  scarcely 
parted  lips. 

Nineteen! — and  all  those  accomplishments  which  her 
dim  living-room  at  Westheath  had  partly  revealed — 
where  books  in  many  languages  had  silently  exposed 
the  mind  that  required  them — where  pictures,  music — 
all  the  unstudied  and  charming  disorder  of  this  young 
girl's  intimate  habitation  had  delicately  revealed  its 
tenant. 

And  what  her  living-room  had  foreshadowed  was 
only,  after  all,  but  a  tinted  phantom  of  the  girl  he  had 
come  to  know  in  the  flesh — the  real  mistress  of  that 
dim  room  quickened  to  life — a  warm,  living,  breathing 
reality,  low-voiced,  blue-eyed,  winsome  and  sweet  with 
the  vague  fragrance  of  youth  incarnate  clinging  to  her, 
to  every  gesture,  every  movement,  every  turn  of  her 

93 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


head — to  her  very  skirts  it  seemed — youth,  freshness, 
purity  unblemished. 

As  he  stood  there  he  tried  to  realize  that  she  was 
German — this  young  girl  with  her  low  and  charming 
English  voice  and  her  accentless  English  speech. 

He  had  listened  in  vain  for  any  flaw,  any  indication 
of  alien  birth.  Nothing  betrayed  her  as  a  foreigner, 
except,  possibly,  a  delightfully  quaint  formality  in  ac 
cepting  any  service  offered.  For  when  he  asked  her 
whether  she  desired  this  or  that,  or  if  he  might  do  this 
or  that  for  her,  always  her  answer  in  the  affirmative 
was,  "Yes,  please,"  like  a  little  girl  who  had  been  care 
fully  taught  to  respect  age.  It  amused  him ;  for  mod 
ern  English  young  women  are  less  punctilious  with 
modern  youth. 

There  came  a  dull  clatter  of  crockery  from  the  pas 
sageway;  Guild  turned  and  opened  the  door.  The 
waiter  produced  a  folding  table,  spread  it,  and  ar 
ranged  the  dishes. 

"That  will  be  all,"  whispered  Guild.  "Don't  knock 
again ;  I'll  set  the  tray  outside." 

So  the  waiter  went  away  and  Guild  closed  the  door 
again  and  turned  back  to  the  bed  where  Karen  lay. 
Her  delicate  brows  were  now  slightly  knitted  and  the 
troubled  curve  of  her  lips  hinted  again  of  a  slumber 
not  wholly  undisturbed  by  subconscious  apprehension. 

"Karen,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

The  girl  opened  her  eyes.  They  had  that  starry 
freshness  that  one  sees  in  the  eyes  of  waking  children. 
For  a  moment  her  confused  gaze  met  his  without  ex- 

94 


AT  SEA 


pression,  then  a  hot  flush  stained  her  face  and  she  sat 
up  hurriedly.  Down  tumbled  the  thick,  burnished  locks 
and  her  hands  flew  instinctively  to  twist  them  up. 

"I  didn't  realize  that  I  had  been  asleep.  Please,  will 
you  turn  your  back" — her  glance  fell  on  the  table — 
"I  shall  be  ready  in  a  moment — Kervyn." 

"Had  I  not  better  give  you  the  place  to  yourself?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"I'll  do  a  sentry-go  in  the  corridor,"  he  said.  "Open 
the  door  when  you're  quite  ready." 

So  he  went  out  and  walked  up  and  down  until  the 
stateroom  door  opened  and  her  low  voice  summoned 
him. 

"I  can't  eat,"  she  said. 

"Do  you  feel  the  sea?" 

"No" — she  smiled  faintly — "but  the  excitement  of 
the  day — the  anxiety " 

"We'll  have  some  tea,  anyway,"  he  said. 

They  ate  a  little  after  all,  and  the  hot  and  rather 
vile  tea  stimulated  her.  Presently  he  set  tray  and  table 
outside  in  the  corridor  and  came  slowly  back  to  where 
she  had  gathered  herself  in  a  corner  of  the  sofa. 

"The  sea  is  rather  rough,"  he  said.  "You  seem  to 
be  a  good  sailor." 

"Yes,  I  am.  My  father  had  a  yacht  and  my  mother 
and  I  always  went  when  he  cruised." 

This  slightest  glimpse  of  personal  history — the  first 
she  had  vouchsafed — the  first  slight  lifting  of  the 
curtain  which  hung  between  them,  aroused  his  latent 
curiosity. 

95 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


What  else  lay  behind  that  delicate,  opaque  veil  which 
covered  the  nineteen  years  of  her?  What  had  been  the 
childhood,  the  earlier  life  of  this  young  girl  whom  he 
had  found  living  alone  with  a  maid  and  a  single  servant 
at  an  obscure  heath  outside  of  London  ? 

Gently  born,  gently  bred  young  girls  of  aristocratic 
precedents,  don't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  Even  if  they 
desire  to  try  it,  they  are  not  permitted.  Also  they 
don't  go  on  the  stage,  as  a  rule. 

Neither  the  sign  manual,  the  sign  visible  of  the  the 
atre,  nor  yet  that  occult  indefinable  something  charac 
teristic  of  the  footlights  appeared  to  taint  her  per 
sonality. 

Talented  as  she  was  undoubtedly,  cultured  and  gen 
tly  nurtured,  the  sum  total  of  all  her  experience,  her 
schooling,  her  development,  and  her  art  had  resulted 
only  in  a  charming  harmony,  not  a  personality  aggres 
sively  accented  in  any  single  particular.  Any  drawing- 
room  in  any  country  might  have  contained  this  young 
girl.  Homes  which  possess  drawing-rooms  breed  the 
self-possession,  the  serenity,  the  soft  voice,  the  winsome 
candour  and  directness  of  such  girls  as  she. 

She  was  curled  up  in  the  corner  of  the  sofa  where 
he  had  placed  behind  her  the  two  pillows  from  the  bed, 
and  her  winning  blue  eyes  rested  every  few  minutes 
upon  this  young  man  whom  she  had  known  only  a  few 
hours  and  whom  she  already,  in  her  heart  and  in  her 
mind,  was  calling  a  friend. 

She  had  never  had  any  among  young  men — never 
even  among  older  men  had  she  experienced  the  quiet 

96 


AT  SEA 


security,  the  untroubled  certainty  of  such  a  friendship 
as  had  begun  now — as  had  suddenly  stepped  into  her 
life,  new,  yet  strangely  familiar — a  friendship  that 
seemed  instantly  fully  developed  and  satisfactory. 

There  appeared  to  be  no  room  for  doubt  about  it, 
no  occasion  for  waiting,  no  uncertainty  in  her  mind, 
no  inclination  and  no  thought  of  the  lesser  convention 
alities  which  must  strew  elaborately  the  path  of  first 
acquaintance  with  the  old,  old-fashioned  garlands — 
those  prim,  stiff  blossoms  of  discretion,  of  propriety, 
of  self-conscious  concession  to  formula  and  tradition. 

No;  when  her  eyes  first  fell  on  him  her  mind  and 
heart  seemed  to  recognize  what  neither  had  ever  before 
beheld — a  friend.  And  from  that  moment  the  girl 
had  accepted  the  matter  as  settled,  as  far  as  she  her 
self  was  concerned.  And  she  had  lost  very  little  time 
in  acquainting  herself  with  his  views  upon  the  sub 
ject. 

That  he  had  responded  to  the  friendship  she  had  so 
naively  offered  did  not  surprise  her.  She  seeme*d  to 
have  expected  it — perhaps  in  the  peril  of  the  moments 
when  they  were  nearing  London  and  doubt  and  sus 
picion  in  her  mind  concerning  the  contents  of  her  satchel 
were  becoming  an  agony  to  her  as  they  grew  more  defi 
nite — perhaps  even  then  the  sudden  and  deep  sense  of 
gratitude  for  his  response  had  made  courage  a  new  ne 
cessity  and  had  armoured  her  against  panic — for  friend 
ship's  sake. 

All  she  realized  in  that  moment  was  that  this  friend 
ship,  so  sudden,  so  vital,  was  already  so  strong  in  her, 

97 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


so  real,  that  even  in  the  terror  of  that  instant  she 
thought  of  the  danger  to  him,  and  asked  him  to  let 
her  go  on  alone. 

Perhaps  they  both  were  thinking  of  these  things — • 
she,  curled  up  in  her  corner,  looking  thoughtfully  at 
him;  he,  knees  crossed,  gazing  restlessly  from  object 
to  object  in  the  unsteady  stateroom,  but  his  eyes  always 
reverting  to  her. 

Then  the  duet  of  silence  ended  for  a  while.  He  said : 
"You  must  not  suppose  that  I  am  not  keenly  alive  to 
the  kindness,  the  fearless  generosity  you  have  shown 
me  all  through  this  affair.  What  you  suffered  is  lodged 
forever  in  my  mind — and  in  my  heart." 

"What  you  have  done  for  me  is  in  my — heart,"  she 
said  in  her  sweetly  modulated  voice. 

"I  have  done  very  little " 

"You  would  not  leave  me !" 

"My  own  life  was  forfeit  if  I  did " 

"No !  You  did  not  reason  that  way !  Besides,  had  I 
managed  to  get  through  alone,  you  should  have  had 
your  life  back  again  to  do  with  as  you  pleased.  No ; 
you  did  not  reason  that  way.  You  stood  by  a  friend 
in  peril — at  your  own  peril." 

She  drew  a  deep,  tremulous  breath.  "More  than 
that,"  she  said,  "you  stood  by  me  when  you  almost  be 
lieved  I  had  lied  to  you — lied  shamefully." 

"I  had  my  plans  ready — in  that  event,"  he  said, 
forcing  a  laugh. 

"You  did  doubt  me?" 

"Yes." 


AT  SEA 


She  bent  her  head,  looked  thoughtfully  at  her  hands, 
which  clasped  one  knee,  then,  lifting  her  eyes :  "I  for 
give  you,"  she  said  gravely. 

He  flushed:  "I  did  not  know  you — did  not  realize — 
what  you  are " 

"You  were  slower  than  I." 

"What?" 

"I  trusted  you — from  the  first." 

He  was  silent;  she  watched  him  for  a  few  moments, 
then : 

"When  you  concluded  that  I  had  lied  to  you,  what 
plans  had  you  ready?" 

"I  had  rather  not  say " 

"Please  do." 

He  bit  his  lip:  "I  had  decided  to  take  your  satchel 
from  you." 

"Against  my  wishes?"  she  asked,  amazed. 

"Yes." 

There  was  no  resentment,  only  a  childish  surprise: 
"Why?" 

"I  told  you  that  I  am  an  enemy  to  your  country." 

"Yes,  I  know " 

"I  told  you  that  I  would  not  knowingly  permit  you 
to  take  out  of  England  anything  which  might  be  detri 
mental  to  England's  interests.  And  I  made  up  my 
mind  that  if  you  had  deceived  me — and  although  I 
stood  by  you — because  you  are  only  a  young  girl — - 
and  were  in  danger  from  those  who  make  no  allowance 
for  youth  and  sex — nevertheless,  as  soon  as  you  were 
in  personal  safety,  I  meant  to  take  from  you  whatever 

99 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


you  had  concealed  from  me  and  which  might  have  been 
of  service  to  England's  enemies." 

"Would  you  have  done  that?" 

"Yes,  if  you  had  been  untruthful  to  me." 

She  bent  her  head,  thoughtfully ;  then  looking  up  at 
him:  "Yes;  that  would  have  been  just.  .  .  .  But  I  have 
not  been  untruthful." 

His  perplexed  and  slightly  careworn  eyes  met  hers. 

"I  can't  doubt  you,"  he  said.  "I  know  you  have 
been  truthful.  But — what  is  in  that  satchel?  Forgive 
me,  I  must  ask  you.  Because  there  is  evidently  enough 
there  to  terrify  you  at  the  thought  of  British  eyes  in 
specting  it." 

"Kervyn — can't  you  believe  me  when  I  tell  you  that 
I  don't  know  what  is  in  that  satchel?" 

"I  do  believe  you.  But  tell  me  what  you  are  afraid 
it  might  be." 

"I  can't — truly  I  can't  tell  you.  Don't  you  under 
stand?  Don't  you  realize  that  I  must  have  promised?" 

"Promised?" 

"Yes — not  to  unlock  or  open  the  satched.  I  did 
promise." 

"To  whom  did  you  make  that  promise?"  And,  as 
she  did  not  reply :  "Was  the  promise  made  to  anybody 
I  ever  met?" 

She  looked  at  him  in  a  distressed  way,  but  his  face 
darkened  and  his  determination  increased. 

"  Did  you  make  that  promise  to  a  German  ?  An 
officer?  Did  you  make  it  to  General  von  Reiter?" 

"Yes." 

100 


AT   SEA 


"I  see.     And  there  are  papers  in  that  satchel!" 

"Yes." 

"Where  did  you  get  them?" 

"From— Mr.  Gratz." 

"You  were  accustomed  to  receive  papers  from  Mr. 
Gratz?" 

"Sometimes." 

"At  certain  intervals?" 

"I  don't  know.  Whenever  Mr.  Gratz  telephoned, 
Anna,  my  maid,  went  to  London  and  usually  brought 
back  the— the  plans." 

"Plans !" 

"Yes.  I  understood  that  they  were  plans  of  a  new 
automobile  which  was  being  designed  by  the  Edmeston 
Agency  for  their  Berlin  branch.  Mr.  Gratz  mentioned 
it  as  the  Bauer-Schroeder  car." 

"To  whom  were  these  plans  to  go,  ultimately?" 

"I  sent  them  to  New  York." 

"To  whom?" 

"To  Schimmel  and  Company,  Broadway." 

"Have  you  any  idea  where  Schimmel  and  Company 
sent  those  plans?" 

"Yes.  I  never  thought  much  about  it  then,  but  to 
day  I  realized  that  sooner  or  later  the  plans  were  sent 
to  General  von  Reiter — in  Berlin." 

"You  are  sure?" 

"Yes.  I  saw  them  when  I  was  there  last  April.  He 
said  that  those  were  the  plans  which  I  had  sent  to 
Schimmel  and  Company." 

"You  saw  the  plans?" 

101 


-WHO    GOES    THERE! 


"Yes." 

"Were  they  plans  of  an  automobile?" 

"I — thought  so  then.  They  were  on  very  thin  paper. 
I  supposed  them  to  be  drawings  of  detached  machinery 
in  sections.  They  looked  to  me  like  fragments  of 
something." 

"And  now — in  the  light  of  what  happened  today — 
what  do  you  believe  those  drawings  represented?" 

"I  have  no  idea — really  I  haven't.  Only — "  She 
hesitated,  troubled,  twisting  her  fingers  on  her  knees. 

"Only — "  he  prompted  her. 

She  said,  with  a  tremulous  intake  of  breath:  "I 
think  I  had  better  tell  you,  Kervyn.  This  is  what 
frightened  me — what  the  experience  of  today  seemed 
to  suddenly  make  plain  to  me — I  mean  your  coming 
to  Westheath,  Mr.  Gratz  telephoning  about  obeying 
you,  and  informing  me  of  the  arrest  of  my  maid — 
these  things,  and  the  war,  and  what  I  have  read  about 
German  spies  in  England — all  this  flashed  up  in  my 
mind  at  the  same  time  when  you  turned  from  the  tele 
phone  and  asked  me  such  terrible  questions. 

"It  made  clear  to  me,  or  seemed  to,  something  else 
that  I  had  not  understood  at  the  time — "  She  hesi 
tated,  her  gaze  concentrated  as  though  in  an  effort  to 
recollect  and  visualize  some  scene — 

"It  was  last  April,  in  Berlin.  .  .  .  General  Baron 
von  Reiter  said  something  to  me  as  I  was  waiting  for 
his  car  to  take  me  to  the  station — I  was  departing  for 
England  again — and  he  said — he  said " 

"Yes,  Karen?" 

102 


AT   SEA 


"He  said  something  about  war — the  possibility  of  it. 
And  he  said  that  in  case  war  ever  came  while  I  was  in 
England,  and  if,  when  it  came,  I  had  in  my  possession 
any  automobile  plans  from  the  Edmeston  Agency — 
from  Mr.  Gratz — that  I  was  to  bring  them  with  me 
to  Germany — not  tc  show  them  to  anybody,  not  to  send 
them  by  mail,  but  to  bring  them  back  and  deliver  them 
to  him." 

"Yes,  Karen." 

"I  promised.  .  .  .  He  made  me  promise  again.  He 
was  very  serious.  He  said  that  on  my  obedience  in 
this  matter  might  depend  the  lives  of  many  people.  I 
had  no  idea  what  he  meant  by  that — until  today.  .  .  . 
And  what  I  fear  has  happened  is  that  Anna,  who  went 
yesterday  to  London  because  Mr.  Gratz  telephoned, 
was  arrested  while  in  possession  of  papers  delivered  to 
her  by  Mr.  Gratz.  .  .  .  And  that  these  papers  were 
not  what  I  had  always  supposed.  And  that  is  why  I 
was  suddenly  afraid — afraid — Oh,  Kervyn  ! — I  cannot 
describe  the  fear  that  leaped  up  and  seized  me  when 
you  asked  me  those  dreadful  questions!  Suddenly 
everything,  every  detail  in  the  entire  matter  seemed  to 
grow  clear  and  terrible  to  me.  .  .  .  I — I  went  into  my 
dressing-room — and  steadied  myself  against  the  wall — 
feeling  faint  for  a  moment. 

"Then  I  took  from  my  dressing-table  the  papers 
which  I  had  from  Anna's  last  visit  to  Mr.  Gratz.  They 
had  remained  there  in  the  drawer  because  I  had  been 
told  not  to  mail  them,  and  no  word  had  come  for  me 
to  go  back  to  Berlin.  So  I  had  them  on  my  hands. 

103 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


But  until  you  came  I  gave  them  no  thought — merely 
conscious  that  I  had  promised  to  take  them  back 
with  me. 

"But — in  that  terrible  moment  when  I  stood  there 
leaning  against  the  wall,  I  remembered  what  was  said 
to  me  about  the  lives  of  many  people  depending  upon 
my  keeping  my  promise.  It  was  a  hideous  thing  to 
remember  at  such  a  time.  .  .  .  But  I  could  not  break 
my  word — for  the  sake  of  these  imperilled  people  also 
— could  I,  Kervyn?  ...  So  I  took  the  papers  and 
locked  them  in  my  satchel.  And  afterward  I — I  asked 
you  to  leave — "  Her  voice  quivered ;  she  bent  her  head 
and  sat  twisting  her  slim  fingers  on  her  lap. 

"That  is  all  I  know,"  she  faltered— "all  I  know 
about  it.  I  have  tried  to  be  true  to  my  word,  and  loyal 
to — you." 

Her  emotion  was  reflected  in  his  own  face;  he  bent 
forward,  laid  his  hand  over  her  restless  fingers. 

"Karen,"  he  said,  "you  are  the  pluckiest,  straightest, 
whitest  woman  I  ever  knew." 

"I'm  only — honest,"  she  whispered.  .  .  .  "And  I 
want  you  to  think  me  so." 

"I  do! — Karen,  dearest,  sincerest,  most  fearless  of 
women !" 

"Do  you  believe  me — that?" 

"Karen,  I " 

A  sharp  knocking  at  the  door  cut  him  short.  They 
looked  at  each  other,  startled.  At  the  same  moment 
he  realized  that  the  ship  had  stopped. 

"Could  it  be  the  stewardess  ?"  she  whisperd. 

104. 


AT   SEA 


"I  don't  know." 

He  rose,  picked  up  the  satchel  and  went  to  the  open 
port. 

"If  a  British  guard-ship  has  stopped  us  to  search 
us,  we  can't  have  this  thing  found,"  he  said. 

She  stared  at  him  in  frightened  silence. 

"They  may  have  found  those  men  we  tied  up  and 
left  in  your  house  at  Westheath!"  he  whispered.  "A 
wireless  would  set  a  score  of  warships  ready  to  inter 
cept  us.  If  they  board  us  they  must  not  find  that 
satchel." 

The  sharp,  loud  rapping  came  again. 

Guild  went  to  the  open  port,  pushed  the  satchel 
through  it,  leaned  out  himself.  As  he  did  so  something 
brushed  his  head,  and,  looking  up,  he  saw  a  rope's  end 
dangling  there. 

In  an  instant  he  had  tied  it  to  the  handle  of  the 
satchel,  stepped  back,  screwed  the  heavy  glass  fast,  and 
then,  motioning  Karen  to  fling  herself  on  the  bed,  he 
went  to  the  door,  opened  it,  and  stood  yawning  in  the 
face  of  a  ship's  officer. 

"Don't  wake  my  wife,"  he  said  drowsily.  "What  is 
the  trouble?" 

"The  trouble  is,"  replied  the  officer  coldly,  "that  a 
British  cruiser  has  signalled  us  to  stop,  and  has  asked 
whether  an  American  named  Guild  is  aboard." 


CHAPTER    IX 

H.    M.    S.    WYVERN 

WELL,"  said  Guild  coolly,  "have  you  any  idea 
what  a  casual  British  cruiser  might  want  of 

mef" 

"I  have  not,"  said  the  officer,  "so  perhaps  you  had 
better  tell  me  what  is  wanted  of  yourself  and  your  wife 
by  the  captain  of  that  warship.  It  might  save  some 
argument  between  him  and  our  own  captain.  We  are 
due  in  Amsterdam  at  noon  tomorrow,"  he  added  mean 
ingly. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  the  officer  in  command  of 
this  British  ship  desires  to  speak  to  my  wife?" 

"His  signals  stopped  us  and  his  wireless  told  us  to 
detain  you  and  your  wife." 

"What  ship  is  it?"  demanded  the  young  man,  so 
nervous  now  that  he  scarcely  knew  what  he  was  saying. 

The  Dutch  officer  remained  icy  and  precise:  "The 
ship  is  the  light  cruiser  Wyvern,  of  the  'Monster'  class. 
Her  consorts  yonder  are  the  Hippogriff  and  Basalisk — • 
if  this  information  enlightens  you,  Mr.  Guild." 

"It  does  not.  But  I  know  this  much:  You  can't  de 
tain  an  American!  Neither  can  that  British  captain 

106 


H.   M.   S.    WYFERN 


take  a  neutral  from  a  neutral  ship!  And  that  settles 
the  matter." 

"Be  good  enough  to  come  on  deck,"  said  the  Hol 
lander  in  his  correct  and  fluent  English.  "The  captain 
desires  to  speak  with  you." 

"Very  well.  I'll  follow  you  in  a  moment" — and  turn 
ing  to  Karen:  "Dearest,  are  you  awake?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"The  captain  wishes  to  see  me.  I'll  be  back  di 
rectly."  He  stepped  out  into  the  corridor,  hesitated, 
excused  himself  to  the  officer,  and  returned  to  Karen, 
closing  the  door  and  locking  it. 

She  was  sitting  up  on  the  bed,  very  still  and  white, 
and  when  he  came  over  to  her  she  instinctively  laid 
both  chilled  hands  in  his.  He  held  them  in  a  firm  and 
reassuring  clasp ;  but  he  was  terribly  disconcerted. 

"Listen,  dear.  I  think  a  British  officer  is  coming 
aboard  for  us.  I  don't  know  whether  he  has  any  right 
to  take  us  off  this  ship,  but  I'm  afraid  that  the  law  in 
the  matter  won't  wrorry  him. 

"Now  listen  to  me,  dear.  If  I  come  back  and  knock 
and  call  to  you  by  name,  open.  If  somebody  knocks, 
and  there  is  no  voice — or  if  it  is  not  my  voice,  go  to 
that  port,  open  it,  untie  your  satchel,  which  is  hanging 
outside  at  a  rope's  end,  take  out  the  papers,  and  drop 
them  into  the  sea.  And  not  until  you  have  done  this 
shall  you  open  the  door  to  anybody." 

"Yes,  Kervyn." 

"Then,"  he  said,  "if  we've  got  to  go  back  to  Eng 
land  on  a  warship,  we'll  go  clean-handed." 

107 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Yes." 

"And  you  had  better  take  these  passports,  too."  He 
drew  them  from  his  breast  pocket.  "They're  forged. 
Throw  them  out  with  the  other  papers." 

"Yes,  I  will." 

"Then — I'm  going.  .  .  .  Don't  worry — dear.  Don't 
tremble  so,  Karen — dear  Karen " 

"I'll  try  not  to.  I'll  not  be  cowardly.  It — it  has 
been  a  long — day.  .  .  .  I'm  thinking  of  Anna,  too. 
You  know,  if  she  had  any  papers,  she  was  bringing 
them  to  me.  That  will  be  against  me." 

"I  forgot  that,"  he  said,  appalled.  Then  he  squared 
his  shoulders  and  forced  a  smile:  "Anyway,  whatever 
faces  you  faces  us  both!  .  .  .  Dear — keep  every  atom 
of  courage  you  have.  I  shall  stand  by  you,  always. 
But  I  must  go  now.  Do  you  promise  me  to  keep  up 
courage  ?" 

«yes— dear " 

They  were  excited,  their  every  nerve  now  stretched 
to  the  breaking,  yet  both  were  striving  for  self-control 
in  the  instant  menace  of  this  new  peril  confronting  them. 
Neither  knew  just  what  they  said  or  did;  he  bent  over 
her;  she  lifted  her  face  to  his,  closing  her  eyes  as  his 
lips  touched  her  forehead.  Then  he  went  away  swiftly, 
and  she  sprang  to  the  floor  and  locked  the  stateroom 
door.  The  next  moment  the  awful  flare  of  a  search 
light  turned  the  room  to  a  pit  of  silvery  fire,  and  she 
cringed  against  the  bed  under  the  fierce  white  glory, 
covering  her  bloodless  face  with  both  hands. 

On  deck,  the  Dutch  captain,  who  was  awaiting  Guild 

108 


H.   M.   S.    WYVERN 


at  the  companionway,  came  forward  hastily  and  drew 
him  aside. 

"They've  boarded  us  already,"  he  said ;  "there  comes 
their  lieutenant  over  the  side.  Tell  me,  Mr.  Guild,  are 
your  papers  in  order  and  your  conscience  clear?  Can 
I  make  a  fight  over  this  affair?" 

"I  have  no  papers,  but  my  conscience  is  in  order. 
Don't  let  them  take  us  if  you  can  help  it." 

"You  have  no  papers?" 

"None  that  can  help  me  or  my  wife." 

"Then  it's  no  use  fighting." 

"Fight  all  the  same !"  whispered  Guild,  as  they  both 
turned  to  meet  the  young  naval  officer  who  had  just 
stepped  aboard.  He  and  the  Dutch  captain  exchanged 
civilities  stiffly,  then  Guild  stepped  forward  into  the  lan 
tern  light. 

"Kervyn  Guild!"  exclaimed  the  slim  young  officer  in 
surprise.  "Is  it  you!" 

"Jamison!"  ejaculated  Guild,  astonished.  "Well  this 
is  lucky !  I'm  tremendously  glad !  I  am  indeed !" 

They  exchanged  a  warm  impulsive  hand-clasp,  smiled 
at  each  other — then  the  quick  smile  on  the  youthful 
lieutenant's  features  altered,  and  his  face  fell. 

"Guild,"  he  said  soberly,  "I  am  afraid  I  shall  have 
to  inconvenience  you  and — your  wife.  I'm  afraid  I 
shall  have  to  ask  you  to  come  aboard  the  Wyvern  with 
me.  I'm  sorry ;  I  know  it  must  inconvenience  you  fear 
fully » 

"Jamison !  We  can't  go  aboard  your  ship !  What 
on  earth  are  you  thinking  of?" 

109 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Orders,"  returned  the  young  fellow  gravely.  "I've 
no  discretion,  you  see." 

As  by  common  consent  they  had  stepped  aside  from 
the  group  of  ships'  officers  and,  standing  in  the  shadow 
of  a  lifeboat,  they  now  gazed  at  each  other  very  seri 
ously. 

Guild  said :  "There  must  be  some  mistake  about  this. 
I  have  no  wife  on  board  this  boat." 

"Did  you  not  board  this  boat  in  company  with  your 
wife?"  asked  Jamison  in  a  low  voice. 

"No." 

"Our  information  is  otherwise." 

"Jamison,  you  know  whether  I  am  likely  to  lie  to 
you.  And  I  say  to  you  on  my  word  of  honour  that  33 
did  not  come  aboard  this  boat  with  my  wife." 

"Is  she  not  on  board?" 

"She  is  not." 

Jamison  said  regretfully :  "No  good,  old  fellow.  We 
know  she  is  not  your  wife.  But  we  want  her.  I  think 
you  had  better  prepare  her  to  come  with  us." 

"Jamison,  will  you  listen  to  me  and  believe  me?" 

"Yes,  of  course." 

"Then,  on  my  word  of  honour,  the  woman  you  have 
come  to  take  from  this  ship  is  absolutely  innocent  of 
any — intentional — crime." 

"I  take  your  word  for  it,  Guild." 

"You  can  guess  my  sentiments  in  regard  to  this  war, 
can't  you?"  insisted  Guild. 

"I  think  I  can." 

"Then  listen,  Jamison.     I  pledge  you  my  word  that 

110 


H.   M.   S.    WYVERN 


through  this  young  girl?  and  through  me,  nothing  shall 
ever  happen  that  could  in  any  manner  be  detrimental  to 
your  country  or  its  allies.  Don't  press  this  matter,  for 
God's  sake !" 

"Guild,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  believe  you  absolutely. 
But — both  you  and  this  young  lady  must  come  aboard 
the  Wyvern  with  me.  Those  are  my  orders,  old  fel 
low.  I  can't  go  back  on  them;  I  have  no  discretion  in 
this  matter.  You  know  that,  don't  you  ?" 

"Yes." 

After  a  silence,  Guild  linked  his  arm  in  the  gold- 
laced  arm  of  his  old-time  friend  and  walked  back  to 
where  the  captain  stood  fidgeting. 

"I  won't  go,  Jamison,"  he  said,  loudly  but  pleas 
antly..  "I  am  not  obliged  to  go  aboard  your  ship. 
Captain  Vandervelde,  I  claim  the  protection  of  your 
flag  for  myself  and  for  my  wife." 

"Captain  Vandervelde  knows  that  it  means  only 
trouble  for  him,"  said  Jamison,  forcing  a  smile.  "He 
is  not  likely  to  defy  the  Wyvern,  I  think." 

They  all  turned  in  the  sudden  glitter  of  the  Wyvern's 
searchlight  and  gazed  across  the  darkness  where  the 
unseen  cruiser  was  playing  on  them  from  stem  to  stern. 

"Will  you  come  with  me,  Guild?"  asked  Jamison 
quietly. 

"No,  Jamison,  I'm  hanged  if  I  do.  .  .  .  And  that's 
too  close  to  the  truth  to  be  very  funny,"  he  added, 
laughingly. 

"The  Wyvern  will  merely  send  a  guard  for  you.  It's 
no  good  bluffing,  Guild.  You  know  it  yourself." 

Ill 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"International  law  is  no  bluff !" 

"International  law  is  merely  in  process  of  evolution 
just  now.  It's  in  the  making.  And  we  are  making  it." 

"That  remark  is  very  British." 

"Yes,  I'm  afraid  it  is.     I'm  sorry." 

"Well,  I  won't  go  aboard  the  Wyvern,  I  tell  you. 
I've  got  to  stay  on  this  ship !  I — "  he  leaned  over  and 
said  under  his  breath — "it  may  mean  death  to  me, 
Jamison,  to  go  aboard  your  ship.  Not  because  of  any 
thing  I  have  to  fear  from  your  people.  On  the  con 
trary.  But  they'll  shoot  me  in  Germany.  Can't  you 
tell  your  captain  I'm  trustworthy  ?" 

"What  is  the  use,  Guild?"  said  the  young  man  gen 
tly.  "I  have  my  orders." 

Guild  looked  at  him,  looked  about  him  at  the  grave 
faces  of  the  captain  and  the  second  officer,  looked  out 
across  the  black  void  of  water  where  the  long  beam  of 
the  searchlight  had  shifted  skyward,  as  though  sup 
plicating  Heaven  once  more. 

Only  a  miracle  could  save  Karen.  He  knew  that  as 
he  stood  there,  silent,  with  death  in  his  heart. 

And  the  miracle  happened.  For,  as  he  stood  staring 
at  the  heavenward  beam  of  the  unseen  cruiser's  search 
light,  all  at  once  the  ship  herself  became  grotesquely 
visible,  tilted  up  oddly  out  of  the  sea  in  the  centre  of 
a  dull  reddish  glow.  The  next  instant  a  deadened  boom 
sounded  across  the  night  as  though  from  infinite  depths ; 
a  shaft  of  fire  two  hundred  feet  high  streamed  skyward. 

"That  ship  has  been  torpedoed !  Oh,  my  God !"  said 
a  voice. 

112 


H.   M.   S.    WYVERN 


"The  Wyvern  has  hit  a  mine!"  roared  the  Dutch 
captain.  "I'm  going  to  get  out  of  this  now!" 

Jamison's  youthful  face  was  marble ;  he  swayed 
slightly  where  he  stood.  The  next  instant  he  was  over 
the  side  like  a  cat,  and  Guild  heard  him  hailing  his 
boat  in  an  agonized  voice  which  broke  with  a  dry,  boy 
ish  sob. 

From  everywhere  out  of  the  blackness  searchlights 
stretched  out  tremulous  phantom  arms  toward  the 
Wyvern,  and  their  slender  white  beams  crossed  and  re- 
crossed  each  other,  focussing  on  the  stricken  warship, 
which  was  already  down  by  the  stern,  her  after  deck 
awash,  and  that  infernal  red  glow  surrounding  her  like 
the  glow  of  hell  around  a  soul  in  torment. 

Passengers,  seamen,  stewards  crowded  and  crushed 
him  to  the  rail,  shouting,  struggling,  crying  out  in 
terror  or  in  pity. 

Guild  caught  an  officer  by  his  gold  sleeve.  "We 
ought  to  stand  by  her,"  he  said  mechanically.  "Her 
magazine  is  afire!" 

"There  are  boats  a-plenty  to  look  after  her,"  re 
turned  the  officer ;  "the  British  destroyers  are  all  around 
her  like  chicks  about  a  dying  hen.  She's  their  parent 
ship ;  and  there  go  their  boats,  pulling  hell  for  sweeps ! 
God !  If  it  was  a  mine,  I  wish  we  were  at  Amsterdam, 
I  do!" 

The  steamer  was  already  under  way ;  electric  signals 
sparkled  from  her;  signals  were  sparkling  everywhere 
in  the  darkness  around  them.  And  all  the  while  the 
cruiser  with  her  mortal  wound,  enveloped  in  her  red 

113 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


aura,  agonized  there  in  the  horrible  sombre  radiance  of 
her  own  burning  vitals. 

Far  away  in  the  black  void  a  ship  began  to  fire  star- 
shells. 

As  the  awed  throng  on  the  moving  liner's  decks  gazed 
out  across  the  night,  the  doomed  cruiser  split  slowly 
amidships,  visibly,  showing  the  vivid  crack  of  her  scar 
let,  jagged  wound.  For  a  second  or  two  she  fairly 
vomited  hell-fire ;  lay  there  spouting  it  out  in  great 
crimson  gouts ;  then  she  crashed  skyward  into  incan 
descent  fragments  like  a  single  gigantic  bomb,  and 
thunderous  blackness  blotted  out  sea  and  sky  once  more. 


CHAPTER    X 

FORCE 

HE  knocked  sharply  at  the  stateroom  door  and 
called,  "Karen !     It  is  I !    Open !" 

She  flung  open  the  door,  satchel  in  hand, 
and  he  entered,  closed  the  door,  relocked  it,  and  dropped 
down  on  the  lounge,  staring  at  space. 

"Kervy n !  What  is  it  ?"  she  asked  faintly,  one  hand 
against  her  breast. 

"It  is  all  right,"  he  said — "as  far  as  we  are  con 
cerned — for  the  present,  anyway.  God !  I  can't  realize 
it — I  can't  get  over  it " 

"What,  Kervyn?"  she  faltered,  kneeling  on  the 
lounge  beside  the  half  dazed  man.  "What  happened? 
Why  are  you  so  ghastly  pale?  Are  we  really  quite 
safe?  Or  are  you  trying  to  make  it  easier  for  me " 

"No ;  you  and  I  are  safe  enough  for  the  moment,"  he 
said.  "But  men  are  dying  out  yonder.  The  sea  is  full 
of  dead  men,  Karen.  And — I  saw  it  all." 

"I  heard  guns.     What  has  happened?" 

"I  don't  know.  It  was  a  mine  perhaps,  perhaps  a 
torpedo.  A  ship  has  been  blown  up."  He  lifted  his 
head  and  turned  to  her:  "But  you  are  not  to  say  such 

115 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


a  thing  to  anybody — after  I  leave  you  at  Trois  Fon 
taines." 

"No,  Kervyn." 

"Not  to  anybody.  Not  even  to  your  father.  Do 
you  understand  me,  Karen?" 

"No.    But  I  won't  tell  anybody." 

"Because,"  he  explained  wearily,  "the  Admiralty 
may  have  reasons  for  concealing  it.  If  they  mean  to 
conceal  it,  this  ship  of  ours  will  be  stopped  again  and 
held  for  a  while  in  some  French  or  British  port." 

"Why?" 

"So  that  the  passengers  cannot  talk  about  what  they 
saw  tonight." 

His  haunted  glance  fell  on  the  satchel  at  their 
feet.  "As  for  that,"  he  said,  "I've  had  enough  of  it, 
and  I'll  take  no  further  chances.  Where  are  our  pass 
ports?" 

"Locked  in  with  the  other  papers.  I  was  all  ready 
to  throw  them  out  of  the  port  when  you  knocked." 

"Unlock  the  bag  now.  I'll  get  rid  of  the  whole  busi 
ness,"  he  said  bluntly. 

"Kervyn— I  can't  do  that." 

"What?"  he  exclaimed. 

"I  can't  destroy  those  papers  if  there  is  a  chance  of 
getting  through  with  them.  I  gave  my  promise,  you 
know." 

The  dull  surprise  in  his  eyes  changed  gradually  to 
impatience. 

"If  another  ship  stops  us,  they'll  have  to  go  over 
board,  anyway." 

116 


FORCE 


"We  may  not  be  stopped  again.  If  we  are,  we  have 
time." 

"Karen." 

"Yes— dear?" 

A  slight  flush  came  into  his  haggard  face;  he  hesi 
tated,  looked  up  at  her  where  she  was  kneeling  on  the 
sofa  beside  him.  "Dear,"  he  said  gently,  "I  have  never 
intended  that  you  should  carry  those  papers  to  your 
father,  or  to  anybody  else." 

"I  don't  quite  understand  you." 

"Try  to  understand.  I  am  a  friend  to  England — 
even  a  closer  friend  to — Belgium." 

"I  know.     But  you  are  my  friend,  too." 

"Devotedly,  Karen."  He  took  hold  of  her  hand ;  she 
slipped  down  to  the  sofa  and  settled  there  beside  him 
1  with  a  little  air  of  confidence  which  touched  and  troubled 
»  him. 

"I  am  your  friend,"  he  said.  "But  there  is  another 
friendship  that  demands  first  of  all  the  settlement  of 
prior  obligations.  And,  if  these  obligations  conflict 
with  any  others,  the  others  must  give  way,  Karen." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"The  obligations  of  friendship — of — of  affection — 
these  must  give  way  before  a  duty  more  imperative." 

"What  duty?" 

"Allegiance." 

"To— whom?" 

"To  the  country  in  which  my  race  had  its  origin." 

"Yes.  .  .  .  But  America  is  neutral,  Kervyn." 

"I  mean — Belgium,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

117 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Belgium!  Are  you  then  Belgian?"  she  asked, 
amazed. 

"When   Belgium   is   in   trouble — yes." 

"How  can  you  be  loyal  to  two  countries?" 

"By  being  loyal  to  my  own  manhood — and  to  the 
God  who  made  me,"  he  answered  in  a  low  voice. 

"You  feel  so  deeply  about  this  war?" 

"Nothing  on  earth  could  stir  me  as  deeply,  Karen. 
Unless — America  were  in  danger." 

"I— I  can't  understand." 

"Let  me  help  you.  My  family  was  Belgian.  For 
many  years  we  have  been  good  and  loyal  Americans. 
America  means  home.  But,  nevertheless,  we  inherit 
obligations  toward  the  country  of  our  origin  which,  so 
far,  time  has  not  extinguished.  .  .  .  When  I  became 
of  military  age  I  went  to  Belgium  and  served  my  time 
in  the  Belgian  army.  Then  I  went — home.  My  father 
did  it  before  me.  My  grandfather  before  him.  My 
younger  brother  will  do  it,  God  willing.  It  is  our  cus 
tom  to  fulfill  our  obligations,"  he  added  with  a  faint 
smile,  "even  when  those  obligations  seem  to  others  a 
trifle  fanciful  and  old-fashioned." 

She  bent  her  fair  head  in  silence,  considering  for  a 
space,  her  hand  resting  rather  lifelessly  in  his.  And, 
after  a  few  moments:  "But  how  does  all  this  interfere 
with  our  friendship?"  she  asked  innocently. 

"It  does  not.  .  .  .  Only  I  could  not  let  you  take 
those  papers  to  Germany,  Karen." 

"But  I've  promised." 

"You  promised  to  do  it  if  it  were  possible."     He 

118 


FORCE 


lifted  her  hand  to  his  lips.  "But — it  has  become  im 
possible,  Karen." 

"Another  ship  may  not  interfere." 

"No.     But  I  must— interfere." 

"You!     Kervyn!" 

"Dear — I  must." 

"Betray  me?" 

"Karen!     Karen!     What  are  you  saying?" 

"If  you  take  my  papers  away  you  betray  our  friend 
ship  !" 

"I  have  told  you  that  there  is  a  higher  obligation 
than  friendship.  Even  your  friendship,  Karen." 

"You — you  mean  to  take  my  papers  from  me?" 

"Yes,  dear." 

"By— by  violence?" 

"Karen  !     Look  at  me !" 

She  gave  him  a  white,  breathless  glance,  wrenched 
her  hand  from  his,  stooped  suddenly,  seized  the  satchel, 
and,  gathering  it  against  her  breast,  clasped  both  arms 
around  it.  Then  she  looked  him  straight  in  the  eyes. 

"Yes,"  he  said,  "that  is  the  only  way.  You  must 
keep  your  word  to  the  last  and  do  your  best.  Only — 
remember  that  what  I  do  now  has  no  bearing  whatever 
upon  our  friendship.  I — I  care  for  you — at  this 
moment — more  than  I  ever  did.  So — forgive  me — 
Karen " 

"I  never  shall!  Kervyn!  Kervyn — think  what  you 
are  doing  ! " 

He  encircled  her  with  his  left  arm,  and  with  his  right 
hand  he  gathered  both  of  her  slender  wrists  in  his  grasp 

119 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


and  held  them.  The  satchel  rolled  from  her  knees  to 
the  floor. 

"Kervyn!"  she  cried,  "think  what  you  are  doing!" 
She  looked  up  into  his  set  face  where  he  held  her  crushed 
against  his  shoulder.  "I  am  your  friend.  Think  what 
you  are  doing!  I — I  care — so  much — for  you!" 

"And  I  for  you,  Karen.  ...  Is  that  the  key  around 
your  neck  on  that  blue  ribbon?" 

"You  shall  not  have  it.  Oh,  Kervyn !  Kervyn !"  she 
gasped — "what  are  you  doing  to  our  friendship  !  What 
are  you  doing !" 

The  struggle  was  already  over;  with  his  left  arm  he 
held  both  of  her  arms  pinned  tightly  to  the  supple  body 
which  lay  panting  against  him,  while  with  his  other 
hand  he  untied  the  narrow  blue  bow-knot  at  her  throat 
and  freed  the  tiny  key.  Then  he  released  her.  They 
both  were  deadly  pale.  She  dropped  back  among  the 
pillows  and  lay  there  staring  at  him.  There  was  in  the 
white  calm  of  her  face  an  expression  almost  pleasant. 

"So — you  have  done  it,"  she  said  in  a  curiously 
altered  voice,  but  her  lips  scarcely  moved  when  she 
spoke. 

He  did  not  answer,  but  in  her  level  eyes  he  saw  blue 
lightning  glimmer. 

"You  did  your  best,"  he  said.  "Your  conscience  is 
clear.  Nobody  can  reproach  you." 

"Do  you  understand,"  she  said  in  a  low,  expression 
less  voice,  "that  I  am  your  enemy?" 

"Do  you  reason  that  way,  Karen?" 

"Reason?" 

120 


"'Kervyii!      Kervyn — Think  what  you  are  doin^J— '/' 


FORCE 


"Yes.  Reason  it  out,  Karen,  before  you  come  to 
such  a  conclusion." 

She  said,  very  quietly :  "A  woman  takes  a  shorter  cut 
to  her  conclusions  than  by  reasoning.  As  I  did  with 
you  .  .  .  when  I  gave  you  my  friendship  .  .  .  un 
asked — "  She  turned  her  head  swiftly,  and  sat  for  a 
moment  while  the  starting  tears  dried  in  her  eyes,  un 
shed.  They  dried  slowly  while  the  battle  raged  within 
her — combat  of  mind  and  heart  with  every  outraged 
instinct  in  arms,  every  emotion,  every  impulse.  Pride, 
belief,  faith,  tenderness  —  all  desperately  wounded, 
fought  blindly  in  the  assault  upon  her  heart,  seeming  to 
tear  it  to  a  thousand  bleeding  fragments. 

Perhaps,  like  the  fair  body  of  Osiris,  it  was  immor 
tal — a  deathless,  imperishable  thing — or  that  what  had 
come  into  it  had  become  indestructible.  For,  after  her 
heart  lay  in  burning  fragments  within  her,  she  turned 
and  looked  at  him,  and  in  her  eyes  was  all  the  tragedy 
of  her  sex — and  all  its  never-ending  mystery  to  men. 

"I  must  end  what  I  have  begun,"  he  said  gently. 

"Does  it  matter,  now?" 

"I  don't  know,  Karen.  I  have  no  choice — even  when 
your  hatred  threatens  me.  ...  I  suppose  it  will  be 
that,  when  I  unlock  your  satchel." 

He  picked  it  up  and  fitted  the  key  to  the  lock.  As 
he  opened  it,  a  faint  fresh  fragrance  came  from  it,  as 
though  he  was  violating  the  delicate  intimacy  of  this 
young  girl  herself. 

But  he  set  his  jaws;  she  saw  the  cheek  muscles 
tighten ;  and  he  drew  from  the  satchel  two  flat  envelopes. 

121 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


One  contained  the  forged  passports,  and  he  placed 
these  in  his  breast  pocket,  then  looked  steadily  at  her. 

"Our  friendship  breaks  with  those  seals,"  she  said 
unsteadily. 

"Karen — I  cannot  help  it." 

"Yes,  you  can  help  it.  ...  Kervyn !  .  .  .  Wait !  I 
will — will  say — that  it  is  more  than  friendship  that 
breaks — "  She  caught  her  breath  and  her  lip  quivered 
— "I — I  have  the  courage  to  say  it — if  it  means  any 
thing  to  you — if  it  will  help " 

His  face  reddened,  then  it  grew  pallid  and  expres 
sionless. 

"Even  that,"  he  said,  "must  stand  aside.  .  .  . 
Karen,  from  the  moment  I  saw  you  I  have  been — in 
love  with  you." 

And,  looking  her  steadily  in  the  eyes,  he  broke  the 
seals. 

When  the  last  seal  broke  she  gave  a  little  cry,  turned 
and  covered  her  eyes  with  both  hands. 

As  for  Guild,  he  stood  with  a  sheet  of  paper  in  his 
hands,  staring  at  the  tracery  which  covered  it  and 
which  meant  absolutely  nothing  to  him.  Then  he  looked 
at  the  remaining  sheets  of  paper.  None  had  any  sig 
nificance  to  him.  There  were  three  sheets  of  thin  trans 
lucent  paper.  These  sheets  were  numbered  from  one 
to  three. 

The  first  seemed  to  be  a  hasty  study  from  some 
artist's  sketch  book.  It  appeared  to  be  a  roughly  ex 
ecuted  and  hasty  sketch  of  several  rather  oddly  shaped 
trees — a  mere  note  jotted  down  to  record  the  impres- 

122 


FORCE 


sion  of  the  moment — trees,  a  foreland,  a  flight  of  little 
hedge  birds. 

On  it,  in  English,  the  artist  had  written  "Sunset." 


Indeed,  the  declining  and  somewhat  archaic  sun  on  the 
horizon  and  the  obviously  evening  flight  of  the  birds 
seemed  to  render  the  label  unnecessary. 

123 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


For  a  long  while  Guild  stood  studying  it  in  the 
light  of  the  stateroom  ceiling  lamp.  And  what  con- 
tinually  arrested  his  attention  and  perplexed  him  was 
the  unusual  shapes  of  the  trees  and  the  un-birdlike  flight 
of  the  birds.  Also  artists  don't  sketch  on  such  paper. 

Now  and  then  he  looked  across  at  Karen  with  an  in 
scrutable  expression,  and  each  time  he  looked  at  her 
his  face  seemed  to  grow  more  rigid  and  his  set  jaws 
more  inflexible. 

The  girl  crouched  in  the  corner  of  the  lounge,  her 
face  covered  by  both  hands  and  pressed  against  the 
pillows. 

He  did  not  speak  to  her.  Presently  he  turned  to  the 
next  paper.  It  bore  the  rough  sketch  of  a  fish,  and 
was  numbered  52. 


It  was  a  wretched  drawing,  intended,  evidently,  to 
resemble  an  old  pike  and  three  young  ones.  What  it 
meant  he  had  no  idea.  He  passed  to  the  third  and  last 
sheet  of  paper,  and  it  instantly  held  his  attention. 

124 


FORCE 


On  it  was  depicted  a  figure,  which  he  supposed  was 
the  artist's  idea  of  a  Japanese  dancing  girl.  She  held 
a  fan  in  her  left  hand.  Over  her  extended  right  hand 
a  butterfly  hovered. 


But  what  interested  and  concentrated  Guild's  atten 
tion  was  not  the  very  amateurish  drawing,  but  the  series 
of  silly  decorations  on  the  paper  above  her  head — a 

125 


FORCE 


number  of  quartered  circles  inclosed  in  squares  and 
oblongs. 

As  decorations  they  meant  nothing,  indicated  noth 
ing,  except  that  the  intellect  responsible  for  them  must 
be  a  meagre  one. 

But  as  a  cipher  message  these  doubly  bisected  circles 
promised  anything. 

This  is  what  Guild  saw  and  what  caused  him  to  seat 
himself  on  the  sofa  beside  the  girl  who  still  lay  huddled 
over  her  pillows,  her  face  hidden  in  her  hands. 

Seated,  he  drew  out  the  portfolio  containing  his  let 
ters  and  a  notebook.  Then,  slipping  a  lead-pencil  from 
the  leather  socket  and  tearing  out  a  sheet  of  paper, 
he  started  work — using  the  leather-backed  book  for  a 
support — on  a  cipher  which  looked  to  be  impossible. 
Yet,  all  ciphers  are  solved  by  the  same  method.  And  he 
knew  it. 

The  first  thing  he  did  wras  to  find  his  "numbers"  in 
the  mass  of  quartered  circles.  And,  working  steadily, 
swiftly,  but  intelligently,  he  had,  in  the  course  of  an 
hour,  discovered,  separated  and  jotted  down,  nine  of  the 
quartered  disks  which  he  believed  to  represent  numbers ; 
and  one  extra  disk  which  he  supposed  to  be  zero.  And 


6789          Zero 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


he  numbered  each  symbol  accordingly:  merely  eliminat 
ing  all  lines  except  those  bisecting  the  smaller  circles. 
This  gave  him  in  order 


9O 


The  next  thing  to  do  was  to  find  what  letters  those 
numbers,  or  combinations  of  numbers,  represented. 

For  a  while  he  tried  English,  but  arrived  at  no 
convincing  result.  So  he  tried  German,  first  making  a 
list  of  the  letters  which  were  likely  to  occur  most  fre 
quently  in  the  written  language  and  then  trying  them 
with  the  symbols  which  occurred  most  frequently  in  the 
manuscript  before  him. 

He  found  that  the  first  symbol  represented  the  fig 
ures  21. 


o 


o 


The  twenty-first  letter  of  the  alphabet  is  u.    He  wrote  it. 
The  next  symbol  was 


for  which  he  substituted  the  figures  14.  The  fourteenth 
letter  of  the  alphabet  is  n.  He  had,  so  far,  two  letters, 
u  and  n,  to  experiment  with. 

128 


FORCE 


He  had  sat  for  several  minutes  gazing  absently 
at  these  two  letters  when,  like  a  shot,  it  struck  him  that 
the  French  word  for  the  number,  one,  was  spelled  un. 
Could  the  key  of  the  cipher  be  French?  He  separated 
and  jotted  down  the  next  combination  of  disks 


() 


which  gave  him  the  numbers  19.     The  nineteenth  letter 
of  the  alphabet  is  s.     He  wrote  it. 
The  next  symbol  was 


or  the  figure  9.     The  ninth  letter  of  the  alphabet  is  i. 
The  next  symbol  was 


which,  translated,  gave  him  24.  The  twenty-fourth  let 
ter  of  the  alphabet  is  x. 

He  now  had  the  letters  s-i-x.  And  no  sooner  had  he 
written  them  in  order  than  the  word  six  stared  him  in 
the  face  and  he  flushed  with  pure  excitement. 

He  had  now  two  words,  un  and  six.  The  chances 
were  that  he  was  somewhere  on  the  right  track  and  he 
fell  to  work  with  a  concentration  and  ardour  which  left 


129 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


him  oblivious  to  everything  else  —  to  time  and  place,  and 
to  the  silent,  motionless  little  figure  huddled  over  the 
pillows  beside  him. 

At  the  end  of  an  hour  —  checked  twice  —  but  finally 
overcoming  apparent  defeat,  and  always  following  the 
same  method  of  deduction,  he  came  to  an  end  of  his 


-  u  L 


-  14  -1- 

M  L 

tt  O 


*    -Q 


A  Fragment  from  Guild's  Notebook 

symbols,  and  he  found  the  leaf  from  his  notebook  was 
covered  with  the  following  words  in  order  of  symbol : 

Un,  six  douze  cinq  cinq  vingt,  douze  quinz' 
vingt-un  sept  eight,  nineteen  vingt  trois  nine  douze 

130 


FORCE 


douze  twenty-five,  eight  cinq  trois  eight  vingt,  six 
quinze  douze  douze  quinze  vingt-trois,  deux  nine 
eighteen  quatre  nineteen. 

For  these  numerals  spelled  out  capriciously  in  either 
abbreviated  French  or  English  he  substituted  numbers 
in  the  sequence  given: 

"1—6—1 2—5—5—20—1 2—1 5—2 1—7—8—19 
—23—9—1 2—1 2—25—8—5—3—8—20—6—1 5 
—12—12—15—23—2—9—18—4—19. 

Then  for  the  figure  1  he  wrote  the  first  letter  of  the 
alphabet — A.  For  the  number  six  he  wrote  the  sixth 
letter  of  the  alphabet  F.  For  the  number  12,  the  twelfth 
letter  of  the  alphabet  L. 

And  when  he  had  written  letters  for  every  figure  in 
order  given  he  had  on  his  sheet  of  paper 

A  FLEETLOUGHSWILLYHECHTFOLLOW 
BIRDS 

After  a  while  he  separated  the  words  A,  Fleet,  Follow, 
and  Birds,  leaving  the  unintelligible  sequence  of  letters 
LOUGHSWILLYHECHT. 

Out  of  this,  for  a  long  while,  he  could  make  nothing, 
until,  by  chance,  taking  the  last  five  letters  together, 
it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  the  German  word  for 
pike  was  HECHT.  Then,  in  a  flash,  he  remembered 
the  badly  drawn  picture  of  a  pike  and  its  young.  Pike 
or  Hecht,  that  was  one  of  the  words  in  all  probability. 
But  what  other  word  the  word  Hecht  represented  he 
could  not  imagine. 

131 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


He  looked  at  his  notebook  again.  The  letters  remain 
ing  were  LOUGHSWILLY.  They  meant  absolute 
ly  nothing  in  any  language  he  had  even  heard  of.  He 
studied  what  he  already  had — A  Fleet  (Blank)  Pike 
Follow  Birds.  A  pike  follow  Birds — birds — and  swift 
as  lightning  a  thought  struck  him  which  set  him  ting 
ling  to  his  finger-tips :  somewhere  in  that  rough,  hasty, 
and  apparently  innocent  sketch  in  which  oddly  shaped 
trees  and  a  line  of  little  birds  figured,  lay  the  key  to  the 
whole  thing. 

He  felt  it,  he  knew  it.  He  spread  out  the  drawing 
on  his  knees  and  studied  it  with  terrible  concentration, 
conscious  somehow  or  other  that  something  about  it, 
something  in  it,  was  vaguely  familiar  to  him.  What? 
Had  he  ever  before  seen  another  sketch  by  the  same 
hand?  He  could  not  recollect.  It  was  like  millions  of 
rough,  hasty  sketches  jotted  down  by  painters  as  notes 
for  their  own  guidance  only  and  not  for  others  to  see. 

What  was  there  about  it  unusual?  The  trees?  The 
shapes  of  the  trees.  Ah!  he  was  getting  nearer  the 
goal — he  realized  it,  felt  it,  and,  balked,  fell  into  a 
mental  rage  for  a  moment. 

Then  his  habitual  self-command  returned ;  he  squared 
his  jaws,  gazed  grimly  at  the  trees,  and  forced  himself 
once  more  to  answer  his  own  questions. 

The  shapes  of  the  trees,  then,  were  unusual.  He  had 
gotten  that  far.  What  was  unusual  in  their  shapes? 
The  trunks  and  branches?  No.  The  foliage.  No. 
The  outline ! 

"God!"  he  whispered.     And  he  had  it. 

132 


FOECE 


Over  the  sofa  was  hanging  a  map  of  the  British  Isles 
and  of  the  Western  coast  of  Europe.  Dotted  lines  indi 
cated  the  course  taken  by  the  Holland  Line  steamers. 
He  reached  up,  unhooked  it,  looked  at  it,  then  at  the 
drawing  in  his  hand. 

Then  he  detached  half  of  the  thin  sheet  of  paper  on 
which  the  sketch  was  drawn  and  laid  it  over  the  sketch. 
Being  translucent  to  the  verge  of  transparency,  he  could 
see  the  drawing  beneath  the  thin  sheet  covering  it. 

Then,  with  his  pencil,  he  steadily  traced  the  outlines 
of  the  trees. 

When  he  had  done  this  and  had  removed  the  sketch 
from  beneath  his  tracing-paper  he  had  what  he  ex 
pected — an  outline  of  the  British  Isles,  the  Hebrides, 
Orkneys,  Shetlands ;  part  of  the  coast  of  Norway,  the 
French,  Belgian  and  Dutch  coast.  Heligoland,  and  the 
German  coast  at  Cuxhaven  and  Wilhelmshaven. 

From  the  map  of  the  steamship  company  he  carefully 
filled  in  boundaries  and  a  few  principal  towns,  then 
placing  his  outline  drawing  over  the  sketch  of  the  trees 
he  drew  a  dotted  line  following  exactly  the  flight  of  the 
little  birds. 

Where  that  flight  terminated  he  made  an  arrow,  then 
turned  his  eyes  on  the  steamer  map  to  find  out  where  that 
arrow's  point  rested. 

And  there  on  the  Irish  coast  he  saw  the  name  Lough 
Swilly! 

It  was  the  last  link ! — the  last  but  one. 

"A  Fleet  Lough  Swilly.    Hecht  (Pike)  follow  birds." 

A  pike,  with  little  pike  following  her,  was  to  follow 

133 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


the  flight  of  the  birds — the  dotted  line  on  his  outline 
map.  The  dotted  line  curved  up  out  of  Cuxhaven, 
around  the  Orkneys  and  Hebrides  and  into  Lough 
S willy — where  there  was  a  fleet! 


KUUIL 

OF  SUBMARINES 
TO  IRISH  COAST 


Out  of  Cuxhaven — Cuxhaven!  where  lay  the  German 
submarines ! — A  pike,  and  young !  A  parent  ship  and 
submarines ! 

The  last  link  was  forged;  the  chain  complete — not 
quite — not  entirely.  The  Japanese  dancing  girl?  Am 

134 


FOECE 

under  the  number  of  the  sketch,  3, — were  three  symbols. 
They  were  junks  with  latten  sails. 

Perhaps  there  were  three  Japanese  battleships  at 
Lough  Swilly.  It  didn't  matter;  the  chain  was  com 
plete  enough  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XI 

STRATEGY 

AS  he  rose  from  the  sofa,  stretching  his  arms  to. 
ease  his  cramped  muscles,  Guild  became  con 
scious  that  he  was  very  tired. 

He  had  had  little  sleep  the  night  before  and  none  at 
all  this  night.  He  glanced  at  his  watch;  it  was  four 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  He  went  to  the  port,  un 
screwed  it,  and  looked  out  into  pitch  darkness.  There 
was  not  a  light  to  be  seen  on  the  sea,  no  flare  from  any 
headland,  no  spark  which  might  indicate  a  lighthouse, 
not  a  star  overhead,  not  a  sparkle  save  for  the  splin 
tered  reflection  of  the  vessel's  own  lights  running  over 
the  water  alongside,  through  which  foaming,  curling 
waves  raced  and  fled  away  into  the  black  obscurity 
astern. 

He  turned  and  looked  gravely  at  Karen.  The  girl 
still  lay  unstirring  among  the  pillows  on  the  sofa.  One 
arm  covered  her  head  as  though  to  shield  it  from  some 
blow. 

He  bent  beside  her,  listening  to  her  breathing.  It 
was  quiet  and  regular,  and  on  her  cheek  was  a  flush 
like  the  delicate  colour  of  a  sleeping  child. 

136 


STRATEGY 


He  had  no  mind  to  disturb  her,  yet  he  could  not  make 
her  more  comfortable  without  awaking  her. 

All  he  dared  do  was  to  unbutton  her  spats  very  cau 
tiously,  and  slip  off  the  little  brown  suede  shoes. 

Over  her  he  laid  the  blankets  from  the  bed,  lightly, 
then  opened  wide  the  port. 

His  own  toilet  for  the  night  was  even  simpler;  he 
folded  together  the  batch  of  damning  papers,  originals, 
his  own  notes,  the  forged  passports,  strapped  them  with 
an  elastic  band,  buttoned  them  inside  his  breast  pocket, 
reached  over  and  extinguished  the  electric  globe,  and, 
fully  dressed,  lay  down  on  the  stripped  bed  in  darkness. 

They  had  been  traveling  sixteen  hours.  Allowing  for 
their  detention  by  the  ill-omened  Wyvern,  they  should 
dock  at  Amsterdam  in  five  or  six  hours  more. 

He  tried  to  sleep ;  but  his  nerves  were  very  much  alive 
and  his  excited  brain  refused  to  subscribe  to  the  body's 
fatigue. 

All  that  had  happened  since  he  first  saw  Karen  Girard 
he  now  went  over  and  over  in  his  mind  in  spite  of  him 
self.  He  strove  to  stop  thinking,  and  could  not;  and 
sometimes  the  lurid  horror  of  the  Wyvem  possessed 
him  with  all  its  appalling  details  made  plain  to  his  im 
agination — details  not  visible  from  the  liner's  decks,  yet 
perhaps  the  more  ghastly  because  hidden  by  distance 
and  by  the  infernal  glare  that  fringed  the  doomed 
ship  like  a  very  nimbus  from  hell  itself. 

This  obsessed  him,  and  the  villainous  information 
which  he  had  wrested  from  the  papers  which  this  young 
girl  had  been  carrying — information  amply  sufficient  to 

137 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


convict  her  and  to  make  inevitable  the  military  execu 
tion  of  the  man  Gratz  and  the  grinning  chauffeur, 
Bush. 

And  if  the  wretched  maid,  Anna,  had  been  arrested 
with  papers  similar  to  these  on  her  person,  her  case,  too, 
was  hopeless.  Because  the  very  existence  of  England 
depended  upon  extinguishing  forever  people  who  dealt 
in  secret  information  like  that  which  lay  folded  and 
buttoned  under  his  belted  coat  of  tweed. 

He  knew  it,  knew  what  his  fate  must  have  been  had 
the  satchel  been  searched  on  Fresh  Wharf — knew  what 
Karen's  fate  must  have  been,  also,  surely,  surely ! 

And  had  those  papers  been  taken  aboard  the 
Wyvern  it  had  not  been  very  long  before  the  simplicity 
of  the  cipher  had  been  discovered  by  anybody  trained  in 
code  work. 

For,  in  spite  of  its  surface  complexity,  the  cipher 
was  a  singularly  simple  one,  even  a  stupid  code,  based 
on  simple  principles  long  known  and  understood  in  all 
of  their  hundreds  of  variations. 

And  all  such  ciphers,  granted  time  and  patience, 
could  be  solved  by  the  same  basic  principles.  The  only 
function  of  that  kind  of  code  was  to  so  multiply  its  in 
tricacies  and  variations  that,  with  a  time  limit  for  de 
livery  understood,  measures  could  be  taken  at  the  other 
end  to  minimize  the  effect  of  discovery,  the  elapsing  of 
the  time  limit  serving  as  an  automatic  warning  that 
message  or  messenger  were  under  forcible  detention 
within  the  enemy's  lines. 

Yes,  it  had  been  a  stupid  cipher,  and  an  easy  one. 

138 


STRATEGY 


A  trained  man  would  have  solved  it  in  half  the  time 
he  had  required. 

Nothing  about  the  message  remained  really  obscure 
except  the  Japanese  dancing  girl  playing  with  her  but 
terfly  and  fan,  and  the  lack  of  information  concerning 
the  "fleet"  at  anchor  or  cruising  near  "Lough  Swilly" 
on  the  Irish  coast. 

As  far  as  the  fleet  was  concerned,  Guild  was  very  con 
fident  that  he  understood.  The  whereabouts  of  the  Brit 
ish  battleship  fleet  was  not  known,  had  been  carefully 
guarded.  Without  a  doubt  Lough  Swilly  was  its  ren 
dezvous  ;  and  the  German  spy  system  in  England  had 
discovered  it  and  was  sending  the  information  to  Berlin 
with  a  suggestion  that  submarines  "follow  the  birds," 
i.  e.,  take  that  dotted  course  around  the  northern  Scot 
tish  coast,  slip  south  into  Lough  Swilly,  and  attack 
the  first  line  of  battle  squadron  where  it  had  been  sup 
posed  to  lurk  in  safety,  awaiting  its  call  to  action.  That 
was  as  clear  as  daylight,  but  the  Japanese  figure  he 
could  not  understand. 

He  was  utterly  unable  to  sleep.  'After  an  hour's 
staring  into  the  darkness  he  rose  cautiously,  opened 
the  stateroom  door  and  stepped  into  the  lighted  cor 
ridor. 

Here  he  lighted  a  cigarette  against  regulations  and 
began  to  pace  up  and  down. 

Presently  the  sharp  nose  of  a  steward  detected  the 
aroma  of  tobacco,  and  he  came  prowling  into  the  corri 
dor. 

139 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


So  Guild  nodded  and  tossed  the  cigarette  out  of  the 
open  port  at  the  end  of  the  corridor. 

"We  ought  to  dock  by  nine,"  he  said. 

"About  nine,  sir." 

"We're  lucky  to  have  run  afoul  of  nothing  resembling 
a  mine." 

"God,  sir!  Wasn't  it  awful  about  the  Wyvern!  I 
expect  some  passenger  steamer  will  get  it  yet.  Mines 
by  the  hundreds  are  coming  ashore  on  the  coast  of  Hol 
land." 

"Have  you  had  any  news  by  wireless  ?"  asked  Guild. 

"A  little,  sir.  They've  been  fighting  all  night  south 
of  Ostend.  Also,  we  had  a  wire  from  London  that  a 
German  light  cruiser,  the  Schmetterling,  is  at  Valpa 
raiso,  and  that  a  Japanese  cruiser,  the  Geisha,  and  a 
French  one,  the  Eventail,  have  been  ordered  after  her." 

Guild  nodded  carelessly,  stretched  his  arms,  yawned, 
and  returned  to  the  stateroom,  knowing  that  now,  at 
last,  he  was  in  possession  of  every  item  in  the  secret 
document. 

For  the  Japanese  dancing  girl  was  the  Geisha9  the 
fan  in  her  hand  was  the  French  cruiser  Eventail  and 
the  butterfly  fluttering  about  her  was  the  German  light 
cruiser  Schmetterling — which  in  that  agreeable  language 
means  "butterfly,"  and  which  no  doubt  had  made  an 
attempt  upon  the  Geisha  and  had  been  repulsed. 

And  this  warning  was  sent  that  the  Schmetterling 
had  better  keep  her  distance,  because  the  Eventail  had 
now  joined  the  Japanese  ship,  and  the  two  meant  mis 
chief. 

140 


STRATEGY 


As  for  the  drawing  of  the  Pike,  perhaps  on  the 
German  naval  list  there  might  have  been  a  vessel  named 
the  HecJit.  He  did  not  know.  The  symbol  of  the  most 
ferocious  fresh-water  fish  in  Europe  was  sufficient  to 
indicate  the  nature  of  the  craft  even  had  the  flight  of  the 
"birds"  not  made  it  unmistakable.  There  could  be  no 
doubt  about  it  that  the  Hecht  with  the  three  little 
Hechts  following  had  been  explicitly  invited  to  cruise 
in  the  North  Sea  and  have  a  look-in  at  Lough  Swilly. 
And  that  was  quite  enough  to  understand. 

He  turned  on  the  cabin  light,  went  to  Karen's  side 
and  looked  at  her. 

She  had  moved,  but  only  in  her  sleep  apparently. 
The  back  of  one  hand  lay  across  her  forehead ;  her  face 
was  turned  upward,  and  on  the  flushed  cheeks  there 
were  traces  of  tears. 

But  she  still  slept.  He  arranged  her  coverings  again, 
stood  gazing  at  her  for  a  moment  more,  then  he  extin 
guished  the  light  and  once  more  lay  down  on  the  bare 
mattress,  using  his  arm  for  a  pillow. 

But  sleep  eluded  him  for  all  his  desperate  weariness. 
He  thought  of  Gratz  and  of  Bush  and  of  the  wretched 
woman  involved  by  them  and  now  a  prisoner. 

The  moment  he  turned  over  these  papers  to  the  Brit 
ish  Consul  in  Amsterdam  the  death  warrant  of  Gratz 
and  Bush  was  signed.  He  knew  that.  He  knew  also 
that  the  papers  in  his  possession  were  going  to  be  de 
livered  to  British  authority.  But  first  he  meant  to  give 
Gratz  and  Bush  a  sporting  chance  to  clear  out. 

141 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Not  because  they  had  aided  him.  They  cared  nothing 
about  him.  It  was  Karen  they  had  aided,  and  their 
help  was  given  to  her  because  of  von  Reiter. 

No,  it  was  not  in  him  to  do  the  thing  that  way. 
Had  he  been  a  British  officer  on  duty  it  had  been  hard 
enough  to  do  such  a  thing. 

As  it  was  he  must  give  them  their  chance  and  he  knew 
of  only  one  way  to  do  it.  This  point  settled  he  dis 
missed  it  from  his  mind  and,  with  a  slight  sigh,  permitted 
his  harassed  thoughts  to  lead  him  where  they  seemed 
always  now  inclined  to  lead  him  when  permitted — back 
to  the  young  girl  he  had  known  only  a  few  hours,  but 
in  whose  company  it  seemed  to  him  that  he  had  already 
lived  a  century. 

He  was  not  a  man  given  to  easy  friendships,  not  a 
man  in  whom  sensations  were  easily  stirred.  Under 
ordinary  circumstances,  perhaps,  neither  the  youthful 
beauty  of  this  girl,  nor  her  talents  and  accomplishments 
had  stirred  him  to  more  than  an  amiably  impersonal 
interest.  He  had  known  many  women  and  had  been 
friends  with  a  few.  But  on  his  part  the  friendships  had 
not  been  sentimental. 

Women  of  all  sorts  and  conditions  he  had  known: 
fashionable  idlers,  professional  women,  domesticated 
women;  women  with  ideas,  women  without  them,  busy 
women  with  leisure  for  mischief,  mischievous  women 
whose  business  was  leisure,  happy  women,  unhappy 
ones,  calm  ones,  restless  ones,  clever  ones,  stupid  ones 
and  their  even  more  irritating  sisters  who  promised  to 
amount  to  something  and  never  did,  all  these  varieties 

142 


STRATEGY 

of  the  species  he  had  known,  but  never  a  woman  like  this. 

Usually  he  could  place  a  woman  after  seeing  her  move 
and  hearing  her  speak.  He  could  only  place  Karen  on 
a  social  par  with  any  woman  he  had  ever  known,  and 
he  was  afraid  she  didn't  belong  there,  because  well-born 
German  Madchens  don't  interne  themselves  in  nun-like 
seclusion  far  from  Vaterland,  Vater,  and  maternal 
apron-strings,  with  intervals  of  sallying  forth  into  the 
world  for  a  few  months'  diversion  as  a  professional  ac 
tress  on  the  stage. 

At  least  Guild  had  never  heard  of  any  girls  who  did 
such  things.  But  there  remained  the  chance,  of  course, 
that  Karen  Girard  was  a  perfectly  new  type  to  him. 

One  fact  was  evident;  her  father  was  a  Prussian  of 
ficer  and  belonged  to  the  Prussian  aristocracy.  But 
gentlemen  of  these  castes  do  not  permit  their  daughters 
the  freedom  that  Karen  enjoyed. 

There  was  a  mystery  about  the  matter,  probably  not 
an  agreeable  one.  Antecedents,  conditions  and  facts 
did  not  agree.  There  was  no  logic  in  her  situation. 

Guild  realized  this.  And  at  the  same  time  he  realized 
that  he  had  never  liked  any  woman  as  much — had  never 
come  to  care  for  any  woman  as  easily,  as  naturally, 
and  as  quickly  as  he  had  come  to  care  for  Karen  Girard. 

It  stirred  him  now  to  remember  that  this  young  girl 
had  responded,  frankly,  fearlessly,  naturally;  had  even 
met  him  more  than  half-way  with  a  sweet  sincerity  and 
confidence  that  touched  him  again  as  he  thought  of  it. 

Truly  he  had  never  looked  into  such  honest  eyes,  or 
into  lovelier  ones, — two  clear,  violet  wells  of  light.  And 

143 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Truth,  who  abides  in  wells,  could  not  have  chosen  for 
her  dwelling  place  habitations  more  suitable. 

She  seemed  to  possess  all  qualities  as  well  as  all  ac 
complishments  and  graces  of  mind  and  body.  The  qual 
ity  of  courage  was  hers — a  courage  adorable  in  its 
femininity.  But  there  was  nothing  hard  about  it,  only 
firmness — like  the  white  firmness  of  her  skin.  And  her 
intuitive  generosity  was  as  quick  and  melting  as  the 
exquisite  motives  which  prompted  it. 

Never  could  he  forget  that  in  the  dreadful  peril  of 
the  moment,  she  had  tried  to  give  him  a  chance  to  es 
cape  the  consequences  of  his  companionship  with  her, — 
had  tried  to  send  him  ashore  at  the  last  moment  so  that 
she  alone  might  remain  to  face  whatever  there  was  con 
fronting  her. 

It  was  a  brave  thing  to  do,  generous,  self-forgetful, 
merciful,  and  finely  just.  For  though  she  had  not  tried 
to  deceive  him  she  had  gradually  realized  that  she  her 
self  might  be  deceived,  and  that  she  was  in  honour  bound 
to  warn  him  concerning  her  suspicions  of  the  satchel's 
contents. 

And  now — in  the  end — and  after  danger  was  practi 
cally  over,  how  did  they  stand,  he  and  she?  How  had 
they  emerged  from  the  snarl  of  circumstances? 

Had  his  gentle  violence  killed  forever  a  very  wonder 
ful  beginning  of  what  they  both  had  spoken  of  as 
friendship  ?  And  she — he  reddened  in  the  darkness  as  he 
remembered — she  had  begged  him  in  the  name  of 
friendship  not  to  violate  it — had  spoken  of  it,  in  the  ex 
citement  of  emotion,  as  more  than  friendship. 

144 


STRATEGY 


It  had  been  the  most  difficult  thing  he  ever  had  had 
to  do. 

Was  it  true  that  her  friendship  had  turned  to  hatred? 

He  wondered,  wondered  at  the  dull  unhappiness  which 
the  thought  brought  with  it.  And,  wondering,  fell 
asleep. 

In  the  grey  of  dawn  Karen  sat  up,  wide-eyed,  still 
tremulous  from  the  dream  of  death  that  had  awakened 
her. 

Through  the  open  port  a  grey  sky  glimmered.  She 
rose  to  her  knees  and  gazed  out  upon  a  grey  waste  of 
water  heaving  to  the  horizon. 

Then  she  turned  and  looked  across  at  the  bed  where 
Guild  lay,  his  blond  head  cradled  on  one  arm,  asleep. 

Her  eyes  rested  on  him  a  long  while.  Then  she 
caught  sight  of  her  shoes  and  spats  on  the  floor — 
looked  down  at  the  blankets  and  covers  that  had  kept 
her  warm.  The  next  moment  her  eyes  fell  on  her  satchel 
where  it  stood  open,  the  key  still  in  the  lock,  and  her 
silver  toilet  articles  glimmering  dully  inside. 

The  vague  tenderness  in  her  blue  eyes  vanished ;  Tie 
had   done   this,   too ! — shamefully,  by   force,   treading 
mercilessly   on   the   frail  bud   of   friendship — ignoring 
everything,  sacrificing  everything  to   a  dull,   obstinate 
determination  which  he  had  characterized  as  duty. 

She  turned  and  looked  at  the  man  who  had  done  all 
this,  her  eyes  darkly  beautiful,  her  lips  stern. 

Duty?  He  had  not  considered  the  duty  she  owed. 
He  had  not  respected  her  promise  to  bring  back  what 

145 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


had  been  intrusted  to  her.  And  when  the  discussion  had 
tired  him — when  her  warnings,  pleadings — even  her 
appeals  in  the  name  of  the  first  friendship  she  had  ever 
given — had  been  ignored,  he  had  coolly  used  violence. 

Yes,  violence,  although,  perhaps,  the  violence  had  not 
been  very  violent.  But  it  was  force — and  hateful  to  her 
who  never  before  had  been  obliged  to  endure  the  arro 
gance  which  her  caste  only  knew  how  to  dispense. 

"So  brauch'  Ich  Gewalt!"  kept  ringing  in  her  ears 
like  a  very  obsession  as  she  knelt  there,  sitting  back  on 
her  own  supple  limbs,  and  watching  the  sleeping  man 
out  of  beautiful  hostile  eyes. 

That  man!  That  American — or  Belgian — whatever 
he  was^-with  his  clear  grey  eyes  and  his  short  yellow 
hair  and  that  mouth  of  his  which  could  be  faintly 
humorous  at  times  and,  at  times  be  so  ugly  and  set — 
what  was  there  about  him  that  she  liked — or  rather 
had  liked? 

Not  his  features;  they  were  only  passable  from  an 
ornamental  point  of  view — not  his  lean  but  powerful 
figure,  which  resembled  many  other  figures  she  had 
seen  in  England — not  his  manner  particularly — at  least 
she  had  seen  more  deferential  attitudes,  more  polish  of 
the  courtly  and  continental  sort,  more  empressement. 

What  was  it  she  liked, — had  once  liked  in  this  man? 
Nothing!  Nothing! — the  tears  suddenly  glimmered  in 
her  eyes  and  she  winked  them  dry,  angrily. 

And  to  think — to  remember  in  years  to  come  that 
she — she  had  pleaded  with  that  man  in  the  name  of 
friendship — and  of  something  more  than  friendship ! 

146 


STRATEGY 

The  hot  colour  mantled  face  and  throat  and  she  cov 
ered  her  eyes  in  a  sudden  agony  of  mortification. 

For  a  few  moments  she  remained  so,  then  her  hands 
fell,  helplessly  again. 

And,  as  she  knelt  there  looking  at  him  through  the 
increasing  daylight,  suddenly  her  eyes  narrowed,  and 
her  set  face  grew  still  and  intent. 

Crowding  out  of  the  shallow  breast  pocket  of  his  Nor 
folk  where  he  lay  were  papers.  Her  papers  .r 

The  next  instant,  lithely,  softly,  soundlessly  on  her 
unshod  feet,  she  had  slipped  from  the  lounge  and  crossed 
the  stateroom  to  his  side,  and  her  fingers  already 
touched  the  edges  of  the  packet. 

Her  papers !  And  her  hand  rested  on  them.  But  she 
did  not  take  them.  There  was  something  about  the 
stealth  of  the  act  that  checked  her, — something  that 
seemed  foreign,  repugnant  to  her  nature. 

Breathless,  her  narrow  hand  poised,  she  hesitated, 
trying  to  remember  that  the  papers  were  hers — striving 
to  aid  herself  with  the  hot  and  shameful  memory  of  the 
violence  he  had  offered  her. 

Why  couldn't  she  take  them  ?  This  man  and  she  were 
now  at  war!  War  has  two  phases,  violence  and  strat 
egy.  Both  are  legitimate ;  he  had  played  his  part,  and 
this  part  was  strategy.  Why  shouldn't  she  play  that 
part?  Why? 

But  her  hand  wavered,  fell  away,  and  she  looked  down 
into  his  sleeping  face  and  knew  that  she  could  not  do  it. 

After  a  moment  his  eyes  opened  and  met  hers,  pleas 
antly. 

147 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


She  blushed  to  her  hair. 

He  said:    "Why  didn't  you  take  them,  Karen?" 

"You  couldn't  understand  if  I  told  you,"  she  said 
with  youthful  bitterness. 

He  looked  very  grave  at  that.  She  turned,  picked 
up  shoes  and  spats,  and  seated  herself  on  the  sofa. 

So  he  got  up,  opened  the  door  and  went  up  on  deck, 
leaving  her  the  stateroom  to  herself. 

At  the  office  of  the  wireless  station  the  operator 
seemed  to  have  no  objection  to  sending  a  message  for 
him  to  the  British  Consul  in  Amsterdam,  and  obligingly 
looked  up  the  address.  So  Guild  sent  his  message  and 
prepaid  reply. 

Then  he  went  into  the  smoking-room  and  lit  a  cigar 
ette. 

He  was  dozing  when  a  steward  awoke  him  with  a  reply 
to  his  wireless  message: 

Kervyn  Guild 
On  board  S.  S.  Feyenoord 

Will  call  at  American  Consulate.  Many  thanks. 
CHURCHILL,  Consul. 

He  sat  thinking  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  remem 
bering  that  he  did  not  know  where  the  American  Consul 
was  to  be  found,  he  went  again  to  the  wireless  office  and 
procured  the  address. 

Turning,  as  he  was  leaving,  to  thank  the  boyish 
operator,  he  found  that  youth's  shrewd  eyes  fixed  on 
him  intently. 

"Look  out,  sir,"  said  the  operator,  in  perfectly  good 

148 


STRATEGY 


English.     "There's  a  lot  o'  talk  about  you  on  board." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Wasn't  it  you  the  Wyvern  was  wanting?" 

"Yes." 

"You're  friendly  to  us,  I  take  it?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  England?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"Yes,  I  am." 

"I  fancied  so.  Be  very  careful  aboard  this  boat,  sir. 
Half  the  crew  and  most  of  the  stewards  are  German." 

"Thanks,"  said  Guild  smilingly. 

But  as  he  walked  slowly  away  he  realized  rather  un 
easily  what  an  object  of  interest  he  had  become  to  the 
personnel  of  the  ship  since  the  Wyvern  had  honoured 
him  by  her  wireless  inquiries  concerning  him. 


CHAPTER    XII 

IN    THE    EAIN 


H 


E  went  straight  to  the  writing-room.     Only  one 
or  two  of  his  fellow-passengers  were  up,  and  he 
had  the  place  to  himself. 
He  wrote  first: 


W.  A.  Churchill,  Esquire,, 
British  Consulate, 
Plantage  Middenlaan  20, 
Amsterdam, 

Holland 
SIR: 

The  following  items  of  information  should  be 
immediately  transmitted  to  your  home  Govern 
ment.  The  importance  of  the  matters  in  question 
admit  of  no  delay. 

1st.  It  has  come  to  my  knowledge  that  German 
spies  in  England  have  discovered  the  where 
abouts  of  a  British  fleet — presumably  the  first  line 
battle  fleet — and  have  attempted  to  communicate 
the  intelligence  to  Berlin.  One  document  in 
cipher  embodying  this  intelligence  has  been  in 
tercepted  and  translated.  But  other  communica 
tions  in  cipher  may  get  through. 

150 


IN   THE   RAIN 


2d.  Another  document  of  the  same  sort  advises 
the  Berlin  Government  to  send  from  Cuxhaven  a 
cruiser  (parent  ship)  as  convoy  to  three  subma 
rines  for  the  purpose  of  attacking  the  British  ar 
moured  ships. 

The  rendezvous  of  the  British  ships,  as  given 
in  the  cipher  message,  is  Lough  Swilly,  North 
Irish  coast. 

The  route  suggested  for  the  German  cruiser  and 
submarines  is  around  the  north  coast  of  Scotland. 

3d.  Still  a  third  document  in  cipher  informs 
the  German  Government  that  the  light  cruiser, 
Schmetterling,  at  or  off  Valparaiso,  is  being  pur 
sued  by  the  Japanese  ship  Geisha  and  the  French 
gunboat  Eventail. 

4th.  The  fourth  and  last  item  of  information 
to  be  transmitted  to  your  Government  concerns  an 
actuality  witnessed  by  myself  and  by  the  major 
ity  of  the  passengers  of  this  steamer,  now  dock 
ing  at  Rotterdam. 

Last  night,  somewhere  between  eleven  o'clock 
and  midnight,  and  somewhere  off  the  Belgian 
coast,  H.  M.  S.  Wyvern  was  blown  up,  whether 
by  mine  or  torpedo  or  by  a  bomb  from  some  un 
seen  air-craft  I  do  not  know.  She  was  using  her 
searchlight  on  the  clouds  at  the  time. 

The  ship  was  tilted  out  of  the  water  at  an  odd 
angle  when  the  red  glare  that  suddenly  enveloped 
her  made  her  visible.  It  appears  to  me  as  though 
some  submarine  convulsion  had  heaved  her  up  out 
of  the  sea. 

There  was  one  of  her  officers  aboard  our  liner 


151 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


when  the  catastrophe  occurred — Lieutenant  Jami 
son.  A  boat's  crew  lay  alongside  of  us.  With 
these  exceptions  it  does  not  seem  probable  that 
anybody  aboard  the  Wyvern  could  have  escaped 
death,  although  other  ships  were  in  the  vicinity 
and  their  searchlights  played  upon  her,  and  I  saw 
small  boats  on  the  way  to  her  before  she  finally 
blew  to  pieces. 

This  is  the  information  which  both  duty  and 
inclination  impel  me  to  place  at  the  disposal  of 
the  British  Government. 

Permit  me  to  add  that  I  am  leaving  in  the  hands 
of  the  United  States  consul,  Henry  H.  Morgan, 
Esquire,  a  separate  packet  of  papers  containing 
full  corroboration  of  the  foregoing  details. 

The  packet  is  addressed  to  you  in  his  care,  but 
he  will  be  instructed  to  give  you  this  letter,  only, 
and  not  to  deliver  the  packet  to  you  until  a  week 
from  today  for  reasons  which  I  cannot  explain. 

The  packet  contains — 

1st.  Three  pages  of  cipher  and  pictographs  em 
ployed  by  the  German  spy  system  in  London. 

2d.  A  key  to  the  cipher. 

3d.  A  key  to  the  pictographs. 

4th.  A  full  translation  of  the  cipher. 

5th.  A  translation  of  the  pictographs. 

6th.  A  map. 

The  German  personage  to  whom  the  packet  was 
originally  addressed,  the  names  and  addresses  of 
those  who  sent  it  from  London,  the  circumstances 
under  which  it  was  intercepted,  will  be  written 
out  with  what  detail  is  necessary,  and  will  be 

152 


IN   THE   BAIN 


contained  in  the  packet  with  the  original  cipher. 
In  one  week  from  today  the  American  Consul, 
Mr.  Morgan,  will  deliver  to  you  this  packet,  but 
under  no  circumstances  is  it  to  be  delivered  before 
a  week  from  today. 

I  have  the  honour  to  be,  sir,  with  great  respect, 
Your  obt.  serv't, 

KERVYN  GUILD. 
Union  square,  New  York. 

This  letter  he  sealed,  addressed,  and  laid  aside. 

He  then  wrote  to  the  American  Consulate,  address 
ing-  the  note  to  the  Consul  and  Vice-Consul,  saying 
that  he  committed  to  their  care — 

1st.  A  letter  to  be  called  for  immediately  by  the 
British  Consul  in  person,  and  so  marked. 

2d.  A  packet  addressed  to  the  British  Consul, 
but  not  to  be  delivered  until  a  week  had  expired. 

3d.  A  letter  to  be  sent  to  the  United  States 
Consul  General  in  London  with  all  speed. 

4th.  A  telegram  to  be  sent  to  Edmeston  Auto 
mobile  Agency  in  London. 

5th.  A  letter  to  the  same  agency. 

He  then  wrote  out  his  telegram,  wondering  whether 
the  United  States  Consul  could  put  it  through: 

Edmeston  Agency, 
White  Hood  Lane, 

London,  E.  C. 

Business  of  instant  importance  requires  you  all 
to  leave  for  Holland  immediately.     Lose  no  time. 

Signed — RIDER. 
Holland  Line  S.  S.  Feyenoord. 

153 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


The  letter  was  directed  to  the  Edmeston  Agency: 

DEAR  SIRS: 

Gratz  and  Bush  must  leave  at  once  if  they  wish 
to  enjoy  the  fishing  here.  The  pike  are  biting. 
Four  have  been  caught.  The  shooting,  also,  is  ex 
cellent.  Eight  birds  were  killed  yesterday.  If 
Gratz  and  Bush  do  not  leave  within  a  week  busi 
ness  in  London  is  likely  to  detain  them  indefinitely 
and  they  will  miss  their  holiday  with  little  chance 
for  another. 

Tell  them  to  take  the  urgent  advice  of  a  sports 
man  and  clear  out  while  they  have  the  chance. 
Yours  with  good  intentions, 

D.  BROWN  SATCHELL. 

While  Guild  was  busy  writing  and  consigning  what  he 
had  written  to  separate  envelopes,  he  was  aware  of  con 
siderable  movement  and  noise  outside  on  deck — the 
passing  to  and  fro  of  many  people,  whistle  blasts  from 
other  craft — in  fact,  all  the  various  species  of  bustle 
and  noise  which,  aboard  any  steamer,  indicate  its  ap 
proach  to  port. 

He  raised  his  head  and  tried  to  see,  but  it  was  still 
raining  and  the  air  was  dull  with  fog. 

Passengers,  stewards,  and  officers  came  and  went, 
passing  through  the  writing-room  where  he  sat  in  a 
corner  sorting  and  sealing  his  letters.  Twice,  glancing 
up  over  his  shoulder,  he  noticed  a  steward  cleaning  up, 
dusting  and  arranging  the  pens,  ink,  and  writing  pa 
per  on  the  several  tables  near  by — one  of  those  too 

154s 


IN   THE   RAIN 


busy  and  officious  functionaries  whose  zeal  for  tips  usu 
ally  defeats  its  own  ends. 

And  so  it  happened  this  time,  for,  as  Guild,  intent  on 
what  he  was  writing,  reached  out  absently  for  another 
envelope,  a  package  of  them  was  thrust  into  his  hand 
with  a  bustling,  obsequious — "Paper,  sir!  Yes,  sir" — 
Beg  pardon,  sir!  I'm  sorry!" — For  somehow  the  ink 
well  had  been  upset  and  the  pile  of  letters  scattered  over 
the  floor. 

"Damn  it!"  said  Guild  savagely,  springing  back  to 
avoid  the  streaming  ink. 

The  steward  appeared  to  be  overwhelmed;  down  he 
flopped  on  his  knees  to  collect  the  letters,  hopping  up  at 
intervals  to  sop  the  flowing  flood  of  ink  from  the  desk. 

Guild  took  the  letters  from  him  grimly,  counted  the 
sealed  envelopes,  then  without  a  word  went  to  the  neigh 
bouring  desk,  and,  sitting  down  there,  wrote  on  the  last 
sealed  envelope  not  yet  addressed — the  envelope  which 
contained  the  cipher  code,  translation,  and  the  informa 
tion  concerning  the  Edmeston  Company.  When  he 
had  written  on  it:  "To  be  delivered  to  the  British  Con 
sul  in  a  week,"  he  gathered  all  the  letters,  placed  them 
in  his  breast  pocket,  buttoned  his  coat,  and  went  out. 
For  half  an  hour  he  walked  to  and  fro  under  the  shelter 
of  the  roofed  deck,  glancing  absently  across  the  rail 
where  there  wras  nothing  to  see  except  grey  mist,  grey 
water,  and  rain. 

After  he  had  enough  of  this  he  went  below. 

Karen  was  not  in  the  cabin,  but  her  luggage  stood 
there  beside  his  own. 

155 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


He  had  plenty  of  time  to  make  a  decent  toilet;  he 
bathed,  shaved,  chose  fresh  linen,  brushed  his  wrinkled 
tweeds  as  thoroughly  as  he  could,  then,  leaving  the  lug 
gage  there  he  went  away  in  search  of  Karen  with  a  view 
to  breakfast. 

He  found  her  on  the  starboard  deck  very  comfortably 
established.  The  idiot  deck  steward  who  had  upset  his 
ink-well  and  scattered  his  letters  was  serving  her  ob 
sequiously  with  marmalade. 

As  Guild  approached  Karen  looked  up  at  him  coolly 
enough,  though  a  bright  colour  surged  into  her  face. 
The  steward  bustled  away  to  find  more  coffee  and  rolls. 

"Do  you  feel  rested  at  all?"  asked  Guild  pleasantly. 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"May  I  take  the  next  chair  and  have  breakfast  with 
you?" 

"Yes,  please." 

He  seated  himself.  She  said  nothing,  ate  nothing. 
Suddenly  it  occurred  to  him  that  in  her  quaint  way 
she  was  waiting  for  his  breakfast  to  appear  before  be 
ginning  her  own. 

"You  are  not  waiting  for  me,  are  you?"  he  asked. 
"Don't  do  that ;  everything  will  be  cold." 

With  an  odd  air  of  old-fashioned  obedience,  which 
always  seemed  to  make  her  more  youthful  to  him,  she 
began  her  breakfast. 

"We'll  be  docking  presently,"  he  remarked,  glancing 
out  into  the  fog  and  thinly  falling  rain. 

"Yes." 

He  lay  back  in  his  chair,  not  caring  for  her  mono- 

156 


IN   THE   RAIN 


syllables,  but  good-humouredly  receptive  in  case  she  en 
couraged  conversation. 

Neither  the  freshness  of  her  clothes  nor  of  her  skin 
seemed  to  have  suffered  from  the  discomforts  of  the 
night ;  her  hair  was  lustrous  and  crisply  in  order.  From 
her  hat-crown  to  the  palms  of  her  gloves  rolled  back 
over  her  wrists,  she  seemed  to  have  just  left  the  hands 
of  a  clever  maid,  so  fresh,  sweet,  fragrant  and  immacu 
late  she  appeared  to  him,  and  he  became  uncomfortably 
conscious  of  his  knickerbockers  and  badly  wrinkled 
tweeds. 

The  same  fool  of  a  steward  brought  his  coffee.  And 
as  Karen  offered  no  encouragement  to  conversation  he 
breakfasted  beside  her  in  silence. 

Afterward  he  lighted  a  cigarette,  and  they  both  lay 
back  on  their  steamer  chairs  watching  the  fog  and  the 
drizzle  and  the  promenading  passengers  who  all  ap 
peared  to  be  excited  at  the  approaching  process  of  dock 
ing  and  over  the  terrible  episode  of  the  previous  night. 

In  all  languages  it  was  being  discussed;  Guild  could 
catch  fragments  of  conversation  as  groups  formed, 
passed,  and  repassed  their  chairs. 

Another  thing  was  plain  to  him ;  Karen  had  abso 
lutely  nothing  to  say  to  him,  and  apparently  no  fur 
ther  interest  in  him. 

From  time  to  time  he  looked  at  the  pure  profile  which 
never  turned  in  response.  Self-possessed,  serene,  the 
girl  gazed  out  into  the  fog  as  though  she  were  quite 
alone  on  deck.  Nor  did  there  seem  to  be  any  effort  in 
her  detached  interest  from  her  environment.  And  Guild 

157 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


wondered  in  his  depressed  heart  whether  he  had  utterly 
and  hopelessly  killed  in  her  the  last  faint  glimmer  of 
friendly  interest  in  him. 

The  docking  of  the  Feyenoord  in  the  fog  interested 
him  very  little;  here  and  there  a  swaying  mast  or  a 
black  and  red  funnel  loomed  up  in  the  fog,  and  the  air 
was  full  of  characteristic  noises — that  is  all  he  saw 
or  heard  where  he  lay  silent,  brooding  on  fate  and 
chance  and  on  the  ways  of  a  woman  in  the  pride  of  her 
youth. 

The  idiot  steward  reappeared  and  Guild  sent  him  be 
low  for  their  luggage. 

On  the  gang-plank  they  descended  with  the  throng, 
shoulder  to  shoulder  in  silence.  Inspection  did  not  take 
long;  then  a  porter  who  had  been  following  took  their 
luggage. 

"Karen,  do  you  speak  Dutch?"  asked  Guild,  mischiev 
ously. 

«Yes— a  little." 

"I  supposed  you  did,"  he  said  smilingly.  "Please 
ask  him  the  shortest  way  to  the  United  States  Con 
sulate." 

She  turned  indifferently  to  the  porter:  "Wat  is  de 
Kortste  weg  naar " 

She  hesitated,  then  with  a  dainty  malice  indescrib 
able — " — Naar  the  Yankee  Consulate?"  she  added 
calmly. 

Guild  reddened  and  strolled  a  few  steps  forward,  thor 
oughly  incensed. 

The  porter  smothered  a  smile:  "Mejuffrouw — "  he 

158 


IiV    THE   RAIN 


began,  "ga  recht  uit  links,  en  den  de  derde  Straat 
rechts " 

"Hoeverishet?" 

The  porter  glanced  sideways  and  cunningly  after 
Guild,  then  sank  his  voice:  "Freule — "  he  began,  but 
the  girl's  haughty  amazement  silenced  him.  He  touched 
his  cap  and  muttered  in  English :  "Madam  is  known  to 
me.  The  chain  is  long  from  London  to  Trois  Fon 
taines.  I  am  only  another  link  in  that  chain — at  ma 
dam's  service." 

"I  am  served — sufficiently.  Find  a  motor  cab  and 
tell  the  driver  to  take  us  to  the  United  States  Consul 
ate." 

The  porter's  visage  expressed  sullen  curiosity : 
"Why,"  he  asked  in  German,  "does  the  gracious,  well 
born  young  lady  desire  to  visit  the  American  Consulate 
when  the  German  Consulate  is  possibly  expecting  her?" 

At  that  she  straightened  up,  staring  at  the  man  out 
of  coldly  insolent  eyes. 

"That  is  enough,"  she  said.  "Take  our  luggage  to 
a  motor  cab." 

"To  the  Yankee  Consulate?" 

"To  the  Consulate  of  the  United  States!  Do  you 
hear?  Move,  then!"  she  said  crisply. 

It  was  raining  torrents  ;  Guild  held  the  sullen  porter's 
umbrella  while  Karen  entered  the  cab ;  the  luggage  was 
stowed,  the  vehicle  wheeled  out  into  rain-shot  obscurity. 

Karen  turned  impulsively  to  the  man  beside  her: 
"Forgive  my  rudeness ;  I  am  ashamed  to  have  insulted 
your  Consulate." 

159 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


He  flushed,  but  his  lips  twitched  humorously ;  "I  am 
sure  that  the  United  States  very  freely  forgives  Frau- 
lein  Girard." 

"Do  your 

"Does  it  matter?"  he  asked  lightly. 

"Yes.    Are  my  amends  acceptable  to  you?" 

"Of  course.     But  what  am  I — Karen " 

"You  are — amiable.    It  was  very  common  of  me." 

"It  might  have  been  rather  common  in  anybody  else. 
You  couldn't  be  that.  Somehow,"  he  added,  smiling, 
"as  we  say  in  America,  you  seem  to  get  away  with  it, 
Karen." 

"You  are  very — amiable,"  she  repeated  stiffly. 

And  constraint  fell  between  them  once  more,  leaving 
him,  however,  faintly  amused.  She  could  be  such  a 
little  girl  at  times.  And  she  was  adorable  in  the  role, 
though  she  scarcely  suspected  it. 

At  the  American  Consulate  the  cab  stopped  and  Guild 
turned  up  his  coat  collar  and  sprang  out. 

While  he  was  absent  the  girl  lay  back  in  her  corner, 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  rain-smeared  pane.  She  had  re 
mained  so  motionless  for  some  time  when  a  tapping  at 
the  cabin  window  attracted  her  attention.  A  beggar 
had  came  to  the  street  side  of  the  cab  and  was  standing 
there,  the  rain  beating  on  his  upturned  face.  And  the 
girl  hastily  drew  out  her  purse  and  let  down  the  win 
dow. 

Suddenly  she  became  rigid;  the  beggar  had  said 
something  to  her  under  his  breath.  The  English  shil 
ling  fell  from  her  fingers  to  the  floor  of  the  cab. 

160 


IN   THE   RAIN 


His  hand  still  extended  in  supplication,  the  man  went 
on  in  German : 

"Your  steamer  swarmed  with  English  spies.  One  of 
them  was  your  stewardess." 

The  girl's  lips  parted,  stiffly:  "I  don't  understand," 
she  said  with  an  effort. 

"The  stewardess  spied  on  the  deck  steward,  Ridder. 
They  were  all  watching  each  other  on  that  ship.  And 
everybody  watched  you  and  the  American.  Ridder  told 
me  to  follow  you  to  the  American  Consulate." 

"Who  are  you?" 

"I  served  as  one  of  the  waiters  in  the  saloon.  Gratz 
knows  me.  If  you  are  carrying  any  papers  of  value 
be  careful." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Ridder  gave  you  some  papers.  The  stewardess  saw 
him.  She  came  ashore  and  watched  you  wrhile  your  lug 
gage  was  being  inspected.  She  knows  you  have  driven 
to  the  American  Consulate.  Your  porter  told  her — the 
fool!  Do  you  know  what  she  is  up  to?" 

"I — I  can — guess.  I  think  you  had  better  go — 
quick!"  she  added  as  the  Consulate  door  opened  and 
Guild  came  out.  And  she  fumbled  in  her  purse  for  a 
coin,  thrust  it  hastily  through  the  window,  and  turned 
in  confusion  to  meet  the  young  man's  sternly  question 
ing  eyes. 

"What  are  you  doing?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"A  man — begging." 

"For  what,  Karen?     For  money  or  information?" 

The   girl   winced   and   avoided  his   gaze.      The   cab 

161 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


wheeled  in  a  short  circle  and  moved  off  through  the  rain 
again. 

"Which  was  it  he  wanted,  Karen?"  repeated  Guild 
quietly.  "Was  it  money  or — something  else  he  wanted?" 

"Does — it — concern  you?"  she  stammered. 

"Yes.  Because  I  have  just  learned  over  the  Consulate 
telephone  that  German  agents  are  now  attempting  to 
do  what  you  refrained  from  doing  last  night." 

"What?" 

"Steal  the  papers  I  had  of  you." 

"Do  you  mean  the  papers  you  stole?" 

"I  mean  the  papers  I  took  by  highway  robbery. 
There  is  a  difference,"  he  added.  "But  both  are  rob 
bery,  and  I  thought  you  were  above  such  things." 

"I  am !"  she  said,  flushing. 

"No,  you  are  not !"  he  retorted  sternly.  "What  you 
were  too  fastidious  to  do  for  yourself  last  night — take 
the  papers  when  you  thought  I  was  asleep — you  had 
done  for  you  this  morning  by  a  steward !" 

"I  did  not!" 

"Why  do  you  deny  it?  What  do  you  mean?  Don't 
you  know  that  while  I  was  busy  in  the  writing-room  a 
steward  upset  my  ink,  scattered  my  papers,  stole  the 
envelope  containing  the  papers  I  took  from  you,  and 
left  me  a  sealed  envelope  full  of  tissue  paper?" 

"It  isn't  true !" 

"It  is  true." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"Your  stewardess  told  me  over  the  telephone  a  few 
moments  ago.  Karen,  you  are  untruthful !" 

162 


IN   THE   BAIN 


She  caught  her  breath ;  the  tears  flushed  in  her  eyes : 

"I  am  not  untruthful !  It  does  look  like  it  but  I  am 
not !  I  did  not  know  that  the  deck  steward  had  robbed 
you.  He  came  to  my  door  and  gave  me  the  papers, 
saying  that  he  had  picked  them  up  in  the  corridor  out 
side  our — my — door!  I  did  not  engage  anybody  to 
steal  them — if  it  is  stealing  to  recover — my  own — prop 
erty " 

"That  deck  steward  is  a  spy,  but  I  don't  understand 
how  he  could  have  known  that  I  had  taken  the  papers 
from  you." 

"I  don't  know  either,"  she  said  excitedly.  "But  every 
body  knew  everything  on  board  that  ship.  It  was  a 
nest  of  spies." 

His  grim  features  relaxed.  "I'm  sorry  I  charged  you 
with  untruth,  Karen.  I  never  shall  again.  But — what 
was  I  to  think?" 

"When  I  tell  you  a  thing — that  is  what  you  are  to 
think,"  she  said  crisply. 

"Yes  ...  I  realize  that  now.  I  am  sorry.  May 
I  ask  your  forgiveness?" 

"Yes— please." 

"Then— I  do  ask  it." 

"Accorded." 

"May  I  ask  a  little  more  ?"  he  continued. 

"What?" 

"May  I  ask  you  to  tell  me  what  you  did  with  those 
papers  after  the  deck  steward  gave  them  to  you?" 

"I  shall  not  tell  you." 

"Then  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  have  to  tell  you  how 

163 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


you  disposed  of  those  papers.  You  first  went  to  the 
stewardess  and  borrowed  a  needle  and  thread  and  then 
asked  permission  to  sit  in  her  room  and  do  a  little 
necessary  sewing " 

The  girl  blushed  hotly:  "The  contemptible  crea 
ture  !"  she  exclaimed. 

"A  little  sewing,"  repeated  Guild,  coolly.  "And,"  he 
continued,  "you  sewed  those  papers  to  your  clothing. 
The  stewardess  saw  you  do  it." 

"Very  well !     Suppose  I  did." 

"You  have  them  on  you  now." 

"And  then?" 

"Why  it  was  a  silly  thing  to  do,  Karen." 

"Silly?    Why?" 

"Because,"  he  said  calmly,  "I  must  have  them,  and 
it  makes  it  more  awkward  for  us  both  than  if  you  had 
merely  put  them  back  into  your  satchel." 

"You — you  intend — to "  Her  amazement  checked 

her,  then  flashed  out  into  wrath. 

"Do  you  know,"  she  said,  "that  you  are  becoming 
impudent  ?" 

"Karen,"  he  retorted  very  quietly,  "a  man  of  my  sort 
isn't  impudent.  But,  possibly,  he  might  be  insolent — 
if  he  chooses.  And  perhaps  I  shall  choose." 

Checked,  her  lips  still  quivering,  the  girl,  despite  her 
anger,  understood  what  he  meant — knew  that  she  was 
confronting  a  man  of  her  own  caste,  where  insolence 
indeed  might  happen,  but  nothing  more  plebeian. 

"I — spoke  to  you  as  though  you  were  an  American," 
she  said  slowly.  "I  forgot " 


164, 


IN   THE   BAIN 


"I  am  answering  you  as  an  American  !"  he  interrupted 
drily.  "Make  no  mistake  about  that  country ;  it  breeds 
plenty  of  men  who  have  every  right  to  answer  you  as 
I  do !" 

She  bit  her  lip;  her  eyes  filled  and  she  averted  her 
face.  Presently  the  cab  stopped. 

"We're  at  the  station,"  he  said  briefly. 

Whether  Guild  had  paid  for  the  entire  compartment 
or  whether  it  happened  so  she  did  not  inquire,  but  they 
had  the  place  to  themselves,  so  far. 

Guild  paid  no  further  attention  to  her  except  to  lay 
a  couple  of  Tauchnitz  novels  beside  her  on  the  seat. 
After  that  he  opened  a  newspaper  which  he  had  brought 
away  with  him  from  the  Consulate,  and  began  to  read  it 
without  troubling  to  ask  her  permission. 

As  the  paper  hid  his  perfectly  expressionless  face  she 
ventured  to  glance  at  it  from  time  to  time.  It  was  the 
New  York  Herald  and  on  the  sheet  turned  toward  her 
she  was  perfectly  able  to  read  something  that  interested 
her  and  sent  faint  shivers  creeping  over  her  as  she 
ended  it : 

PASSPORT   REFORM  STIRS  AMERICANS 

ABROAD  AND   DEALS   HARD 

BLOW   TO    SPIES 

CITIZENS    OF    THE     UNITED     STATES    RECOGNIZE     NE 
CESSITY     FOR     NEW     ORDER,     BUT     DEMAND     TO 
KNOW      WHO      WAS      RESPONSIBLE       FOR 
ISSUANCE    OF   FRAUDULENT   PAPERS 

[Special  Cable  to  the  Herald  ] 
165 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Herald  Bureau, 
No.  130  Fleet  Street, 
London,  Tuesday. 

The  United  States  Government's  sweeping  new 
order  requiring  every  American  travelling  in  Eu 
rope  to  go  through  a  cross-examination  before  an 
American  diplomatic  or  consular  officer  came  as  a 
bolt  from  the  blue  today.  It  caused  widespread 
comment,  though  it  is  recognized  that  the  meas 
ure  is  necessary  to  checkmate  German  spies  imper 
sonating  American  travellers. 

There  is  no  criticism  of  this  drastic  order, 
which  it  is  recognized  is  probably  issued  to  comply 
with  Sir  Edward  Grey's  communication  concerning 
German  secret  agents  posing  as  American  citizens. 
But  many  Americans  want  to  know  who  is  re 
sponsible  for  the  apparent  wholesale  issuance  of 
fraudulent  American  passports  to  Germans.  The 
result  is  that  now  an  American  passport  is  not 
worth  the  paper  it  is  written  on  unless  backed  up 
by  a  photograph  of  the  bearer,  a  description  of 
where  he  is  going,  what  he  is  going  for,  how  long 
he  is  going  to  stay  and  so  forth. 

American  embassies  in  European  capitals  to 
day  are  circulating  broadcast  warnings  to  all 
Americans  to  consult  the  nearest  diplomatic  or 
consular  officer  before  undertaking  any  voyage. 

All  Americans  must  understand  that  hence 
forth  a  passport  does  not  mean  permission  to 
travel  in  Europe.  They  must  have  written  and 
vouched  for  proof  that  they  are  not  German  spies 
before  they  can  feel  safe. 

166 


IN   THE   BAIN 


It  is  all  the  result  of  too  free  issuance  of  Amer 
ican  passports  at  the  outbreak  of  the  war,  cou 
pled  with  German  quickness  to  profit  by  Ameri 
can  leniency  in  this  respect. 

Before  the  train  started  a  commissionaire  appeared, 
hurrying.  He  opened  the  door  of  their  compartment, 
set  a  pretty  basket  inside,  which  was  to  be  removed  at 
the  first  station  beyond. 

The  basket  contained  a  very  delicious  luncheon,  and 
Karen  looked  up  shyly  but  gratefully  as  Guild  set  about 
unpacking  the  various  dishes.  There  was  salad,  chicken, 
rolls  and  butter,  a  pate,  some  very  wonderful  pastry, 
fruit,  and  a  bottle  of  Moselle  that  looked  like  liquid 
sunshine. 

There  was  one  pasteboard  box  which  Guild  gave  to 
her  without  opening  it.  She  untied  the  violet  ribbon, 
opened  it,  sat  silent.  He  seemed  to  pay  no  attention 
to  what  she  was  doing. 

After  a  moment  she  lifted  out  the  cluster  of  violet- 
scented  orchids,  drew  the  long  pin  from  them,  and 
fastened  them  to  her  blouse. 

"Thank  you — very  much,"  she  said  shyly. 

"Do  you  care  for  orchids?" 

"Yes    ...   I  am  a  little — surprised." 

"Why?" 

"That  you  should — think  to  offer  them — to  me " 

He  looked  up,  and  his  grey  eyes  seemed  to  be  laugh 
ing,  but  his  mouth — that  perplexing,  humorous,  in 
scrutable  mouth  of  his  remained  grave  and  determined. 

167 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Karen,"  he  said,  "if  you  only  understood  how  much 
I  do  like  you,  you  wouldn't  perhaps  deal  so  mercilessly 
with  me." 

"I?    Merciless?" 

"You  are.  You  made  me  use  force  with  you  when 
you  should  not  have  resisted.  And  now  you  have  done 
something  more  merciless  yet." 

"W— what,  Kervyn?" 

"You  know   ...     I  must  have  those  papers." 

"Kervyn !" 

"Dear — look  at  me.  No — in  the  eyes.  Now  look 
at  me  while  I  say,  as  seriously  and  as  gently  as  I  know 
how,  that  I  am  going  to  have  those  papers!  .  .  .  You 
know  I  mean  what  I  say  .  .  .  That  is  all — dear." 

Her  eyes  fell  and  she  looked  at  her  orchids. 

"Why  do  you  speak  that  way  to  me — after  giving 
me  these?" 

"What  have  orchids  to  do  with  a  man's  duty?" 

"Why  did  you  give  them  to  me  ?" 

"Why?    Because  we  are  friends,  if  you  will  let  us  be." 

"I  was  willing — am  still — in  spite  of — everything. 
You  know  I  am.  If  I  can  forgive  you  what  you  did  to 
me  in  our  stateroom  last  night,  surely,  surely  Kervyn, 
you  won't  take  any  more  chances  with  my  forgiveness — 
will  you?" 

He  said:  "I  shall  have  to  if  you  force  me  to  it. 
Karen — I  never  liked  any  woman  as  much  as  I  like  you. 
We  have  known  each  other  two  days  and  a  night.  But 
in  that  time  we  both  have  lived  a  long,  long  time." 

She  nodded,  thoughtfully. 

168 


IN   THE   RAIN 


"Then — you  know  me  now  as  well  as  you  ever  will 
know  me.  Better  than  any  other  woman  has  ever  known 
me.  When  my  mind  is  made  up  that  a  certain  thing  is 
to  be  done,  I  always  try  to  do  it,  Karen  .  .  .  And  I 
know  that  I  ought  to  have  those  papers  .  .  .  And 
that  I  am  going  to  have  them.  Is  that  clear — Karen, 
dear?" 

She  remained  silent,  brushing  her  orchids  with  her 
finger-tips,  absent-eyed,  serene.  After  a  moment  he 
thought  that  the  ghost  of  a  smile  was  hovering  on  her 
lips,  but  he  was  not  sure. 

Presently  she  looked  up: 

"Shall  we  lunch?"  she  asked. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  DAY  OF  WRATH 

THREE  times  they  were  obliged  to  change  cars 
after  passing  through  Utrecht.  Night  fell ;  the 
last  compartment  into  which  they  had  been 
crowded  was  filled  with  Dutch  cavalry  officers,  big, 
talkative  fellows  in  their  field  uniforms  and  jingling 
equipments,  civil  to  Guild,  courteous  to  Karen,  and  all 
intensely  interested  in  the  New  York  newspaper  which 
Guild  offered  them  and  which  they  all  appeared  to  be 
quite  able  to  read.  • 

They  all  got  out  at  Maastricht,  where  the  lantern-lit 
platform  was  thronged  with  soldiers ;  and,  when  the 
train  started,  the  two  were  alone  together  once  more. 

They  had  been  seated  side  by  side  when  the  officers 
were  occupying  the  compartment;  they  remained  so 
when  the  train  rolled  out  of  the  station,  neither  offering 
to  move,  perhaps  not  thinking  to  move. 

Karen's  Tauchnitz  novel  lay  open  on  her  lap,  her 
eyes  brooded  over  the  pages,  but  the  light  was  very  dim 
and  presently  she  lay  back,  resting  her  arm  on  the  up 
holstered  window  ledge. 

Guild  had  been  sitting  so  very  still  beside  her  that 

170 


THE   DAY   OF    WRATH 


she  suspected  he  was  asleep.  And  when  she  was  sure 
of  it  she  permitted  herself  closer  scrutiny  of  his  features 
than  she  had  ever  ventured. 

Curiosity  was  uppermost.  To  inspect  at  her  leisure 
a  man  who  had  so  stirred,  so  dominated,  so  ruled  and 
misruled  her  was  most  interesting. 

He  looked  very  boyish,  she  thought,  as  he  lay  there — 
very  clear  cut  and  yellow-haired — very  kind — except 
for  the  rather  square  contour  of  the  chin.  But  the 
mouth  had  relaxed  from  its  sternly  quiet  curve  into 
pleasant  lines. 

One  hand  lay  on  his  knees ;  it  was  clenched ;  the  other 
rested  inert  on  the  cushioned  seat  beside  her,  listless, 
harmless. 

Was  that  the  hand  of  iron  that  had  closed  around  her 
shoulders,  pinning  both  her  arms  helpless  ?  Were  these 
the  hands  that  had  mastered  her  without  effort — the 
hands  which  had  taken  what  they  chose  to  take,  gently 
violent,  unhurried,  methodical  and  inexorable? 

How  was  it  that  her  swift  hatred  had  not  endured 
in  the  wake  of  this  insolent  outrage?  Never  before  had 
a  hand  been  laid  on  her  in  violence — not  even  in  reproof. 
How  was  it  that  she  had  endured  this  ?  Every  womanly 
instinct  had  been  outraged.  How  was  it  that  she  was 
enduring  it  still? — acquiescing  in  this  man's  presence 
here  in  the  same  compartment  with  her — close  beside 
her?  She  had  resented  the  humiliation.  She  resented 
it  still,  fiercely — when  she  remembered  it.  Why  didn't 
she  remember  it  more  frequently?  Why  didn't  she 
think  of  it  every  time  she  looked  at  him?  What  was 

171 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


the  trouble  with  her  anger  that  she  seemed  to  forget  so 
often  that  she  had  ever  been  angry? 

Was  she  spiritless?  Had  his  violence  then  crippled 
her  pride  forever?  Was  this  endurance,  this  submis 
sion,  this  tacit  condoning  of  an  unforgivable  offense  to 
continue? 

There  was  colour  in  her  cheeks  now  as  she  sat  there 
gazing  at  him  and  remembering  her  wrongs,  and  in 
dustriously  fanning  the  rather  sickly  flames  of  her 
wrath  into  something  resembling  a  reasonable  glow. 

But  more  fuel  seemed  to  be  needed  for  that ;  the  men 
tal  search  for  it  seemed  to  require  a  slight  effort.  But 
she  made  it  and  found  her  fuel — and  a  brighter  colour 
stained  her  face. 

Dared  he  lay  hands  on  her  again!  What  did  his 
recent  threat  mean?  He  was  aware  that  she  had  sewed 
the  papers  to  her  clothing.  What  did  he  mean  by  warn 
ing  her  that  he  would  take  them  by  violence  again  if 
necessary?  It  was  unthinkable!  inconceivable!  She 
shivered  unconsciously  and  cast  a  rather  scared  glance 
at  him — this  man  was  not  a  Hun !  She  was  no  Sabine ! 
The  era  of  Pluto  and  Proserpine  had  perhaps  been  com 
prehensible  considering  the  times — even  picturesque,  if 
the  galleries  of  Europe  correctly  reflected  the  episode. 
But  such  things  were  not  done  in  1914. 

They  were  not  only  not  done  but  the  mere  menace 
of  them  was  monstrous — unbelievably  brutal.  She 
needed  more  fuel,  caught  her  breath,  and  cast  about  for 
it  to  stoke  the  flames  before  her  flushed  cheeks  could  cool. 

And  to  think — to  think  that  she,  Karen,  was  actually 

172 


THE   DAY   OF    WRATH 


at  that  moment  wearing  his  orchids — here  at  her  breast ! 
Her  gloved  hand  clenched  and  she  made  a  gesture  as 
though  to  tear  the  blossoms  from  her  person.  .  .  .  And 
did  not.  .  .  .  They  were  so  delicate,  so  fresh,  so  fra 
grant.  .  .  .  After  all  the  flowers  were  innocent.  It 
was  not  these  lovely,  scented  little  things  she  should 
scorn  and  punish  but  the  man — this  man  here  asleep 
beside  her 

Her  heart  almost  ceased  for  a  moment ;  he  moved, 
opened  his  eyes,  and  lay  looking  at  her,  his  lids  still 
heavy  with  sleep. 

"You  are  horribly  tired — aren't  you?"  she  faltered, 
looking  into  his  worn  face  which  two  days'  lack  of  sleep 
had  made  haggard. 

He  nodded,  watching  her. 

"I'll  move  across  the  way  and  let  you  stretch  out," 
he  said. 

"No — you  need  not." 

"You  look  dead  tired." 

"I  couldn't  sleep  that  way.    You — need  not — move." 

He  nodded ;  his  eyes  closed.  After  he  had  been  asleep 
a  little  while,  watching  him,  she  wondered  what  he  might 
be  dreaming,  for  a  ghost  of  a  smile  edged  his  lips. 

Then,  sleeping,  his  arm  moved,  encircled  her,  drew 
her  shoulder  against  his.  And  she  found  herself  yield 
ing,  guided,  relaxing,  assenting,  until  her  cheek  lay 
against  his  shoulder,  resting  there.  And  after  a  while 
her  eyes  closed. 

The  fuel  had  given  out.  After  a  little  while  the  last 
spark  died.  And  she  slept. 

173 


CHAPTER  XIV 

HER    ENEMY 

THE  dim  light  fell  on  them  where  they  slept  seated 
upright,  unconscious,  swaying  as  the  car  swayed. 
Unseen  forests  swept  past  on  either  side  under 
a  dark  sky  set  with  stars;  low  mountains  loomed 
in  the  night,  little  rivers  sparkled  under  trestles  for 
a  second  and  vanished  in  the  dull  roar  of  the  rushing 
train. 

The  man,  sunk  back  against  the  upholstered  seat,  lay 
as  though  dead. 

But  after  a  while  the  girl  dreamed.  It  was  the  fron 
tier  toward  which  tliey  were  rushing  through  the  night 
— a  broad  white  road  running  between  meadows  set  with 
flowers,  such  as  she  had  often  seen. 

Two  painted  sentry  boxes  stood  on  either  side  of  the 
boundary;  the  one  on  her  side  was  empty,  but  in  the 
other  she  realized  that  her  enemy  was  on  guard,  hidden, 
watching  her. 

She  desired  to  cross.  In  all  her  life  never  had  she 
so  longed  for  anything  as  she  longed  to  cross  that  still, 
sunny,  flower-bordered  frontier. 

She  dared  not.     Her    enemy    stood    hidden,  armed, 

174 


HER   ENEMY 


watching  her  from  within  that  painted  sentry  box.  She 
knew  it.  She  was  afraid.  She  knew  that  her  enemy 
would  step  out  with  weapon  levelled  and  challenge  her 
the  instant  she  set  foot  across  that  flowering  frontier. 
She  was  afraid  of  his  challenge,  afraid  even  to  learn 
what  her  enemy  might  look  like. 

Yet  she  must  cross.  Something  had  to  be  done — 
something  had  to  be  done  while  the  sun  was  shining  and 
the  breeze  in  the  meadow  set  the  flowers  all  swaying. 
She  looked  desperately  at  the  silent  sentry  box.  Noth 
ing  moved.  Yet  she  knew  her  enemy  was  watching  her. 

Then,  frightened,  she  set  one  foot  across  the  line — 
took  one  more  step,  very  timidly. 

"Halt !    Who  goes  there?" 

She  knew  it — she  knew  it !  It  had  come — it  had  hap 
pened  to  her  at  last! 

"F-friend!"  she  faltered— "but  I  do  not  know  the 
countersign." 

"Pass,  friend,  without  the  countersign!" 

Could  she  believe  her  ears ! 

She  listened  again,  her  hand  resting  against  her 
heart.  But  she  only  heard  a  child  laughing  inside  the 
sentry  box,  and  the  smothered  ruffle  of  preening  wings. 

Her  dream  partly  awoke  her;  she  lay  very  still, 
vaguely  conscious  of  where  her  cheek  was  resting,  then 
closed  her  eyes  to  seek  her  enemy  again  among  her 
dreams. 


CHAPTER  XV 

IN    CONFIDENCE 

THEY  awoke  with  a  light  shining  in  their  eyes; 
the  guard  stood  on  the  running  rail,  one  hand 
on  the  knob  of  the  door. 

"The  frontier,"  he  said.  "Descend  if  you  please  for 
the  customs,  and  kindly  have  your  papers  ready." 

The  girl's  blue  eyes  were  sleepy  and  humorous  as 
she  rested  her  hand  on  his  arm  to  rise. 

"Are  we  ever  to  have  a  good  night's  sleep  again?" 
she  murmured  as  he  aided  her  to  descend  in  the  lantern- 
lit  darkness. 

"It's  our  punishment,"  he  said. 

"For  what,  please?" 

"For  ever  doubting  each  other." 

She  said  nothing.  A  soldier  picked  up  their  luggage 
and  carried  it  across  the  platform  where  another  train 
stood  waiting. 

And  all  at  once  Guild  realized  that  the  soldiers 
around  the  station  and  custom-house  were  not  Belgians 
but  Germans.  He  had  forgotten  that,  and  it  gave  him 
a  distinct  shock. 

As  he  and  Karen,  following  the  soldier,  entered  the 

176 


CONFIDENCE 


long  room  in  the  custom-house,  an  officer  all  in  sea-grey 
from  the  shrouded  spike  on  his  helmet  to  his  ankles  came 
forward  and  saluted ;  and  Guild  coolly  lifted  his  cap. 

"Have  I  by  chance  the  honour  of  addressing  Herr 
Guild?"  asked  the  officer. 

"I  am  Herr  Guild." 

"And — gnadiges  Fraulein?" — at  salute  and  very 
rigid. 

"Fraulein  Girard." 

"The  gracious  young  lady  has  credentials? — a  ring, 
perhaps?" 

Karen  drew  off  her  glove,  slipped  the  ring  from  her 
finger.  A  soldier  held  up  a  lantern ;  the  lieutenant  ad 
justed  a  single  eye-glass,  scrutinized  the  ring,  returned 
it  with  a  tight-waisted  bow. 

"Papers  in  order!"  he  said,  turning  to  the  customs 
officials.  "Pass  that  luggage  without  inspection  !" 

He  was  very  polite.  He  escorted  them  to  the  Bel 
gian  train,  found  an  empty  compartment  for  them, 
thanked  them  with  empressement,  and  retired  into  the 
darkness  which  had  hatched  him. 

As  the  train  started  Karen  said  in  a  low  voice: 
"Would  you  care  to  call  that  officer  a  barbarian,  Ker- 
vyn?" 

"You  haven't  seen  Louvain.  But  probably  that  of 
ficer  has — through  his  monocle." 

She  sighed.  "Are  we  to — differ  again?  I  am  so 
sleepy." 

This  time  he  was  entirely  awake  and  responsible  for 
his  actions.  So  was  she.  But  she  was  really  very  tired, 

177 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


she  remembered,  when  conscience  began  to  make  her 
uncomfortable  and  call  her  to  account. 

But  she  was  too  weary  to  argue  the  point ;  her  cheek 
rested  unstirring  against  his  shoulder;  once  or  twice 
her  eyes  opened  vaguely,  and  her  hand  crept  toward 
the  orchids  at  her  breast.  But  they  had  not  been 
crushed.  Her  white  lids  closed  again.  It  was  unfor 
tunate  that  she  felt  no  desire  to  sleep.  Her  conscience 
continued  to  meddle  at  intervals,  too. 

But  of  one  thing  she  was  quite  certain — she  would  not 
have  tolerated  any  such  thing  very  long  had  she  not 
been  very  sure  that  he  had  immediately  gone  to  sleep. 
„  .  .  And  she  was  afraid  that  if  she  stirred  he  might 
awake.  .  .  .  And  perhaps  might  not  be  able  to  go  to 
sleep  again.  .  .  .  He  needed  sleep.  She  told  herself 
this  several  times. 

"Karen?" 

"What  ?"  she  said  in  consternation.  And  she  felt  her 
cheeks  growing  hot. 

"You  will  let  me  have  those  papers,  won't  you?" 

She  lay  very  still  against  his  shoulder. 

"Won't  you?"  he  repeated  in  a  low  and  very  gentle 
voice. 

"Please  sleep,"  she  said  in  a  voice  as  low. 

"Won't  you  answer  me?" 

"You  need  sleep  so  much!" 

"Please  answer  me,  Karen." 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "that  unless  you  let  me  sleep 
I — couldn't  rest — like  this.  Don't  you?" 

"Are  you  not  comfortable?" 

178 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


"Yes.  .  .  .  But  that  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
know  it." 

He  murmured  something-  which  she  did  not  catch. 

"I  don't  care  to  rest  this  way  if  we  are  going  to  re 
main  awake,"  she  whispered. 

"I  am  asleep,"  he  replied,  drowsily. 

Whether  or  not  he  was,  she  could  not  be  certain  even 
after  a  long  while.  But,  in  argument  with  her  con 
science  again,  she  thought  she  ought  to  take  the  chance 
that  he  was  asleep  because,  if  he  were,  it  would  be  in 
human  of  her  to  lift  her  head  and  arouse  him. 

Meanwhile  the  train  moved  ahead  at  a  fair  speed,  not 
very  fast,  but  without  stopping.  Other  trains  gave  it 
right  of  way,  hissing  on  sidings — even  military  and 
supply  trains  which  operated  within  the  zone  controlled 
by  General  von  Reiter's  division.  The  locomotive  car 
ried  several  lanterns  of  various  colours.  They  were 
sufficient  to  clear  the  track  for  that  train  through  that 
strip  of  Belgium  to  the  Luxembourg  frontier. 

Hills,  woods,  mountain  streams,  stretches  of  ferny 
uplands,  gullies  set  with  beech  and  hazel  flew  by  under 
the  watching  stars. 

Over  the  fields  to  the  west  lay  what  had  been  Liege. 
But  they  swung  east  through  Herve,  past  Ensival,  then 
south  by  Theux,  Stavelot,  over  the  headwaters  of  the 
Ourthe. 

Forest  trees  almost  swept  the  window  panes  at  times ; 
lonely  hamlets  lay  unlighted  in  darkened  valleys.  Ka 
ren's  blue  eyes  were  shut  and  she  did  not  see  these 
things.  As  for  Guild  he  lay  very  still,  wondering  how 

179 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


he  was  to  get  the  papers — wondering,  too,  what  it  was 
about  this  girl  that  was  making  this  headlong,  nerve- 
racking  quest  of  his  the  most  interesting  and  most  won 
derful  journey  he  had  ever  undertaken. 

They  were  not  asleep,  but  they  should  have  been.  And 
in  separate  corners.  Conscience  was  explaining  this  to 
her  and  she  was  really  trying  to  find  relief  in  sleep. 
Conscience  was  less  intrusive  with  him,  except  in  regard 
to  the  papers.  And  when  it  had  nagged  him  enough 
he  ceased  wondering  how  he  was  going  to  get  them  and 
merely  admitted  that  he  would  do  it. 

And  this  self-knowledge  disturbed  him  so  that  he 
could  scarcely  endure  to  think  of  the  matter  and  of 
what  must  happen  to  their  friendship  in  the  end.  Sor 
row,  dismay,  tenderness  possessed  him  by  turns.  She 
seemed  like  a  slumbering  child  there  on  his  shoulder, 
softly  fragrant,  trustful,  pathetic.  And  he  was  pledged 
to  a  thing  that  might  tear  the  veil  from  her  eyes — • 
horrify  her,  crush  her  confidence  in  man. 

"I  can  bribe  a  couple  of  old  women,"  he  thought  mis 
erably — "but  it's  almost  as  bad  as  though  I  did  it  my 
self.  Good  Heavens ! — was  a  man  ever  before  placed  in 
such  a  predicament?" 

And  when  he  couldn't  stand  his  horrid  reflections  any 
longer  he  said,  "Karen?"  again.  So  humbly,  so  unhap 
pily  that  the  girl  opened  her  blue  eyes  very  wide  and 
listened  with  all  her  might. 

"Karen,"  he  said,  "in  a  comparatively  short  time  you 
won't  listen  to  me  at  all — you  won't  tolerate  me.     An< 
before  that  time  is  upon  us,  I — I  want  to  say  a — few- 
ISO 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


words  to  you  .  .  .  about  how  deeply  I  value  our  friend 
ship.  .  .  .  And  about  my  very  real  respect  and  ad 
miration  for  you.  .  .  .  You  won't  let  me  say  it,  soon. 
You  won't  care  to  hear  it.  You  will  scorn  the  very  men 
tion  of  my  name — hate  me,  possibly — no,  probably.  .  .  . 
And  so  now — before  I  have  irrevocably  angered  you — 
before  I  have  incurred  your — dislike — I  want  to  say — 
if  I  may — that  I — never  was  as  unhappy  in  all  my 
life." 

Lying  very  still  against  his  shoulder  she  thought: 
"He  does  not  really  mean  to  do  it." 

"Karen,"  he  went  on,  "if  you  don't  find  it  in  your 
heart  to  spare  me  this — duty — how  can  I  spare  my 
self?" 

She  thought :   "He  does  mean  to  do  it." 

"And  yet— and  yet " 

"He  won't  do  it!"  she  thought. 

"There  never  has  been  a  coward  in  my  race!"  he 
said  more  calmly. 

"He  does  mean  to  do  it !"  she  thought.  "He  is  a  bar 
barian,  a  Hun,  a  Visigoth,  a  savage !  He  is  a  brute,  all 
through.  And  I — I  don't  know  what  I  am  becoming — 
resting  here — listening  to  such — such  infamy  from 
him !  I  don't  know  what  is  going  to  become  of  me — I 
don't— I  don't!" 

She  caught  her  breath  like  a  hurt  child,  hot  tears 
welled  up;  she  turned  and  buried  her  face  against  his 
arm,  overwhelmed  by  her  own  toleration  of  herself  and 
the  man  she  was  learning  so  quickly  to  endure,  to  fear, 
and  to  care  for  with  all  the  capacity  of  a  heart  and 

181 


WHO   GOES  THERE! 


that  had  never  before  submitted  one  atom  of  either 
snind  or  heart  to  any  man. 

What  had  happened  to  her?  What  possessed  her? 
What  was  bewitching  her  that  from  the  first  instant 
she  had  laid  eyes  on  him  she  seemed  to  realize  she  be 
longed  with  him — beside  him!  And  now — now  a  more 
terrifying  knowledge  threatened,  menaced  her — the 
vague,  obscure,  formless  idea  that  she  belonged  to  him. 

Did  it  mean  she  was  in  love!  Was  this  love?  It 
couldn't  be.  Love  came  differently.  It  was  a  happi 
ness,  a  delight,  a  firm  and  abiding  faith,  a  sunburst 
of  self-revelation  and  self-knowledge.  It  wasn't  tears 
and  conscience  and  bewilderment,  and  self-reproach — 
and  a  haunting  fear  of  self — and  a  constantly  throttled 
dismay  at  her  own  capability  for  informality — the  in 
formality,  for  example,  of  her  present  attitude!  And 
she  wept  anew  at  her  own  astounding  degradation. 

Love?  No,  indeed.  But  a  dreadful,  unaccountable 
exposure  of  her  own  unaccountable  capacity  for  famil 
iarity!  That  was  it.  She  was  common — common  at 
heart,  common  by  instinct.  She  had  thought  she  had 
a  will  of  her  own.  It  seemed  she  had  not.  She  had 
nothing! — nothing  admirable  in  her — neither  quality 
nor  fineness  nor  courage  nor  intellect  It  must  be  so, 
or  how  could  she  be  where  she  was,  blotting  her  tears 
against  the  shoulder  of  a  man  she  had  known  two  days ! 
— biting  at  her  quivering  lip  in  silence  there,  miserable, 
bewildered,  lonely — lonely  beyond  belief. 

"Karen?" 

She  made  the  eif ort,  failed,  tried  again : 

182 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


"Yes,"  she  managed  to  say. 

"Don't  cry  any  more." 

"No." 

"Because  I  don't  mean  to  make  you  unhappy." 

«No-o " 

"But  I  must  have  those  papers — mustn't  I?" 

"Y-yes." 

"But  you  are  not  going  to  give  them  to  me,  are  you?" 

"No-o." 

"And  I  am  not  going  to — to  tear  you  to  pieces,  am 
I?" 

"No-o-o " 

"And  yet  I  must  have  them,  mustn't  I?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  I  am  going  to  get  them,  don't  you?" 

"Yes." 

"How  do  you  think  I  am  going  to  do  it?" 

"I  d-don't  know." 

"I  think  I  know  one  way." 

She  remained  silent. 

"It  is  quite  a  wonderful  way  ...  if  it  could  occur — 
happen,  come  about." 

She  said  nothing. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know — I  won't  think  about 
it  any  more  .  .  .  for  a  while.  .  .  .  It's  too  important 
to  think  about  ...  in  that  way  .  .  .  if  it  is  going 
to  be  important  at  all.  ...  I  don't  know  exactly 
what  I'm  saying,  Karen.  I  seem  to  be  thinking  out 
loud.  .  .  .  The  idea  came  .  .  .  and  then  remained. 
.  .  .  You  won't  cry  any  more,  will  you?" 

183 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"No." 

"I  frightened  you,  didn't  I?" 

"No.  .  .  .  Yes.  ...  Not  exactly." 

"You  know,"  he  said,  "I  don't  understand  you." 

"Don't  you?" 

"Not  clearly.  .  .  .  Do  you  care  a  little  for  me, 
still?" 

"I  don't  know— how  I  feel." 

"Could  you  care  for  me — be  friends  again — as 
naturally  and  as  honestly  as  you  were  once  ?" 

"I — trusted  you.     Friendship  is  trust." 

"I  know.     I  have  destroyed  your  confidence." 

"Yes — my  confidence  in  friendship." 

"That  is  a  terrible  thing  to  do,"  he  said  miserably. 

"Yes.  Friendship  ends  when  distrust  begins.  I  do 
distrust  you  and  I  don't  understand  why — why  dis 
trusting  you  makes  me  care  for  you — even  more." 

"Karen !" 

"I  do  care — more  than  I  did.     Can  you  explain  it?" 

He  was  silent,  surprised  and  touched. 

"I  can't  explain  it  to  myself,"  she  said.  "I  have  been 
trying  to  and  I  can't.  I  should  detest  you,  but  I  don't. 
If  there  is  any  contempt  it  is  for  myself — because  I  can 
not  feel  it  for  you,  perhaps.  I  think  it's  that.  I  don't 
know.  The  years  we  have  lived  together  in  these  two 
days  must  account  for  my  liking  you.  .  .  .  Not  alto 
gether,  because  it  began  in  the  beginning  when  you 
came  to  Hyacinth  Villa.  .  .  .  And  it's  been  so  all  the 
time." 

"Not  all  the  time.     Not  in  our  stateroom." 

184 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


"Yes— even  there." 

"When  I " 

"Yes  !  Yes  !  Isn't  it  degrading?  Isn't  it  unaccount 
able — terrible !  I'm  frightened  I  tell  you.  I  am  afraid 
that  whatever  you  do — will  not — change  me." 

There  was  no  emotion  in  her  young  voice,  only  an 
accentless  admission  of  facts  with  a  candour  and  direct 
ness  that  silenced  him. 

After  a  moment  she  went  on,  without  emphasis,  and 
thoughtfully,  as  though  in  self-communion  to  make 
things  clearer  to  herself: 

"I'm  really  well  born.  You  might  be  pardoned  for 
not  thinking  so " 

"Your  father  is  of  that  caste." 

"General  von  Reiter  is  not  my  father." 

''What!"  he  exclaimed,  astounded. 

She  turned  her  face  from  his  shoulder  and  looked  up 
at  him. 

"He  spoke  to  you  of  me  as  his  daughter.  You  spoke 
to  me  of  him  in  that  relation,  too.  I  did  not  enlighten 
you  because  it  did  not  seem  to  matter.  But  it  is  not 
true." 

"Is  he — your  guardian?" 

"No ;  I  need  none.  My  father  was  a  German  officer — 
of  that  caste.  My  mother  was  Danish.  .  .  .  Something 
happened — I  do  not  know  what.  I  was  very  little. 
And  my  mother  would  never  speak  of  it.  She  was  very 
beautiful.  I  remember  her  quite  well.  We  lived  in 
Copenhagen. 

"Whatever  happened  occurred  before  I  was  born.     I 

185 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


know  that.  Mother  told  me.  My  father  dropped  both 
title  and  name  and  left  the  army  and  went  with  my 
mother  to  Copenhagen.  He  took  the  name  of  his 
mother  who  was  English — Girard.  I  never  was  even 
told  what  our  name  had  been.  Neither  father  nor 
mother  would  ever  speak  of  it." 

She  rested  there  silent,  absent-eyed,  gazing  into  space 
as  though  recalling  years  that  had  not  been  unpleasant. 
Then,  serenely  meeting  his  gaze,  she  smiled  up  at  him. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "my  life  has  been  a  happy 
one.  My  father  was  a  man  of  means.  We  lived  very 
happily  in  Denmark.  I've  always  thought  of  myself  as 
Danish. 

"My  childhood  was  really  wonderful.  I  had  a  passion 
for  study,  for  learning ;  and  I  learn  very  easily — almost 
without  effort.  And  you  know,  perhaps,  how  thorough 
the  Danish  schools  are,  how  much  they  demand  of  a 
child,  physically  as  well  as  mentally. 

"And  I  did  everything,  Kervyn ;  learned  the  accom 
plishments  of  a  young  Danish  girl — and  was  flattered 
I  am  afraid,  and  perhaps  spoiled. 

"And  always  I  desired  to  go  on  the  stage — always — 
from  the  very  beginning — from  the  time  I  was  first  taken 
to  the  theatre. 

"It  was  quite  hopeless.  I  did  act  for  charity,  and 
at  school ;  and  afterward  took  lessons.  But  as  long  as 
my  father  and  mother  lived  that  career  was  not  possible. 
.  .  .  Afterward  I  decided  for  myself.  And  first  I 
went  to  Germany  and  they  gave  me  a  small  part  in  a 
company  that  was  going  to  Posen.  And  there  General 

186 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


von  Reiter,  who  had  been  my  father's  friend  and 
brother-officer,  met  me. 

"He  was  very  kind.  He  wished  to  adopt  me  and  give 
me  his  name.  He  was  very  insistent,  too — a  man — 
Kervyn,  not  unlike  you — in  some  respects.  But  I 
never  dreamed  of  permitting  him  to  sway  me — as 
you  do. 

"He  knew  my  desire  for  a  stage  career;  he  has  for 
three  years  attempted  to  destroy  in  me  that  desire. 
When  I  had  no  engagement,  or  was  studying,  he  in 
sisted  that  I  stay  with  his  brother  and  his  brother's  wife, 
with  whom  he  lived.  He  spoke  freely  of  his  desire  and 
intention  of  legally  adopting  me,  called  me  his  daughter 
when  he  spoke  to  others  of  me — and  always  I  felt  the 
constant,  iron  pressure  of  his  will — always — not  harsh 
ly,  but  with  the  kindly  patience  of  resolution. 

"Then  I  decided  to  go  to  England,  study,  and  if  pos 
sible  gain  some  experience  on  the  London  stage. 

"And  then"— she  bit  her  lip— "I  think  I  may  say  it— 
to  you — not  saying  it  lightly,  Kervyn — then,  on  the 
eve  of  my  departure,  he  asked  me  to  marry  him. 

"And  because  he  would  not  accept  my  answer  he  ex 
acted  of  me  a  promise  that  in  November  I  would  return 
to  Berlin,  give  him  my  final  answer,  and  choose  then 
between  marrying  him  or  a  return  to  the  profession  I 
care  for  most. 

"That  is  my  history,  Kervyn.  No  man  has  ever  fig 
ured  in  it;  none  except  General  Baron  von  Reiter  has 
ever  even  invaded  it  ...  until  you  have  done  so  ... 
and  have  made  your  wishes  mine — I  don't  know  how — 

187 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


and  your  will  my  inclination — and  me  more  than  the 
friend  I  was. 

"One  thing  only  you  could  not  do — and  in  my  heart 
I  know  you  do  not  wish  it  of  me — and  that  is,  make 
me  break  my  word — make  me  forget  a  promise. 

"Now  I  have  told  you  all,"  she  said  with  a  little  sigh, 
and  lay  there  looking  at  him. 

"Not  all,  Karen." 

"Yes,  I  think  so." 

"No.  You  have  not  told  me  what  answer  you  mean 
to  make." 

Her  eyes  opened  at  that.  "I  am  not  in  love.  What 
answer  should  I  make?" 

"You  return  to  your  career?" 

"Of  course,  once  my  promise  is  kept." 

"What  promise?" 

"To  see  him  and  tell  him  what  I  have  decided." 

"Do  you  think  he  might  persuade  you?" 

"No !" 

"Are  you  sure?" 

"Perfectly." 

He  said,  looking  at  her  with  a  hint  of  a  smile  in  his 
eyes :  "Do  you  think  I  might  ever  persuade  you  to  give 
up  your  career?" 

She  smiled  frankly:  "I  don't  think  so." 

"Not  if  I  asked?" 

"You  wouldn't  do  such  a  thing." 

"I  might  if  I  fell  in  love  with  you." 

She  lay  perfectly  still,  quite  tranquil,  looking  up  at 
him.  Suddenly  her  expression  changed. 

188 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


"Is  it  likely?"  she  said,  the  tint  of  excitement  in  her 
cheeks. 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"I  don't  know.     Is  it?" 

"It's  perfectly  possible  I  imagine." 

"That  you  could  fall  in  love  with  me?" 

"Yes." 

After  a  moment  she  laughed  as  a  child  laughs  at  the 
prospect  of  beholding  wonders. 

"Kervyn,"  she  said,  "please  do  so.  I  will  give  you 
every  opportunity  if  you  will  remain  at  Trois  Fon 
taines." 

"I  mean  to  remain  in  that  vicinity,"  he  said,  mean 
ingly  ;  and  she  laughed  again,  deliciously,  almost  mali 
ciously. 

"It  would  finish  you  thoroughly,"  she  said.  "It 
would  be  poetic  justice  with  a  vengeance." 

" Your  vengeance?" 

"Yes,  mine.     Oh,  if  you  only  did  do  that !" 

"I  think,  considering  the  way  you  look  at  it,  that  I'd 
better  not,"  he  said,  rather  seriously.  "Besides,  I've  no 
time." 

"No  time  to  fall'  in  love  with  me  ?" 

"No  time." 

"Why?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"Very  well.  Because  after  I  have  the  papers  I  shall 
enter  the  Belgian  army."  He  added  with  a  hint  of  impa 
tience — "Where  I  belong  and  where  I  ought  to  be  now." 

189 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


She  became  very  silent  at  that.  After  a  few  mo 
ments  she  said:  "Had  you  decided  to  do  that  before  I 
met  you?" 

"Yes.  I  was  on  my  way — trying  to  avoid  the  very 
trap  I  fell  into." 

"The  German  army?" 

"Yes." 

After  another  silence  she  said :  "I  shall  be  very  sorry 
when  you  go.  I  shall  think  of  you  when  I  am  in  Eng 
land." 

"You  can't  go  back  to  England,  Karen." 

"That  is  true.     I  forgot." 

"Where  will  you  go?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Don't  go  to  Germany." 

"Why?" 

"There  may  be  an  invasion." 

She  had  lifted  her  head  as  he  spoke.  After  a  mo 
ment  she  sighed  like  a  tired  child,  laid  her  head 
back  on  his  arm  and  rested  one  slender  hand  on  his 
shoulder. 

It  suddenly  seemed  to  her  that  the  world,  which  had 
been  going  very  well  with  her,  had  halted,  and  was 
beginning  to  go  the  other  way. 

"Kervyn?" 

"Yes?" 

"You  could  take  the  papers  when  I  am  asleep,  I  sup 
pose.  I  couldn't  help  it,  could  I?" 

"That  is  one  way,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"What  was  the  other?" 

190 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


He  did  not  reply. 

She  sighed  again.  "I  suggested  it,"  she  said,  "in 
order  to  give  you  a  little  more  time  to  do — what  you 
said  you  thought — possible." 

"Fall  in  love?"  he  asked  lightly.     "Yes." 

"What  would  be  the  use,  Karen?" 

"Use?" 

"Yes.  I'm  going  into  the  army.  It  will  be  a  long 
war.  If  I  fell  in  love  with  you  I'd  not  have  time  to 
win  your  love  in  return  before  I  went  away — admitting 
that  I  could  ever  win  it.  Do  you  see?" 

"I  quite  see  that." 

"So  I  had  better  take  the  papers  when  I  can,  and 
get  into  touch  with  the  reserves  of  my  regiment  if  I 
can." 

"What  regiment?" 

"The  Guides." 

"The  Guides  !    Are  you  an  officer?" 

"Yes,  of  the  reserve." 

She  knew  quite  well  what  that  meant.  Only  the  Bel 
gian  nobility  of  ancient  lineage  served  as  officers  in  the 
Guides. 

A  happiness,  a  wonderful  tranquillity  crept  over  her. 
No  wonder  she  had  found  it  difficult  to  really  reproach 
herself  with  her  behaviour.  And  it  was  a  most  heavenly 
comfort  to  her  to  know  that  if  she  had  been  indiscreet, 
at  least  she  had  been  misbehaving  with  one  of  her  own 
caste. 

"The  next  station,"  said  the  German  guard,  squint- 
191 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ing  in  at  them  from  the  window  under  his  lifted  lan 
tern,  "is  Trois  Fontaines." 

"What!"  exclaimed  Guild  surprised.  "Have  we 
passed  the  customs?" 

"The  customs  ?  This  is  a  German  military  train ! 
What  business  is  it  of  the  Grand  Duchy  where  we  go 
or  what  we  do?" 

He  lowered  his  lantern  and  turned  away  along  the 
running-board,  muttering:  "Customs,  indeed!  The 
Grand  Duchy  had  better  mind  its  business — and  the 
Grand  Duchess,  too!" 

A  few  moments  later  the  locomotive  whistled  a  long 
signal  note  to  the  unseen  station. 

"Karen,"  said  Guild  quietly,  "in  a  few  moments  I 
shall  be  out  of  debt  to  General  von  Reiter.  My  life 
will  be  my  own  to  do  with  as  I  please.  That  means 
good-bye." 

She  said  with  adorable  malice :  "I  thought  you  were 
going  to  rob  me  first." 

"I  am,"  he  said,  smiling. 

"Then  I  shall  make  the  crime  a  very  difficult  one  for 
you.  ...  So  that  our — parting — may  be  deferred." 

The  train  had  already  come  to  a  standstill  beside  a 
little  red-tiled  station.  Woods  surrounded  it;  nothing 
was  visible  except  the  lamps  on  a  light  station-wagon 
drawn  up  to  the  right  of  the  track. 

The  guard  unlocked  and  opened  their  compartment. 
A  young  man — a  mere  boy — came  up  smilingly  and 
lifted  his  cap : 

"Mademoiselle  Girard?     Monsieur  Guild?     I   come 


192 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


from  Quellenheim  with  a  carriage.  I  am  Fritz  Berg- 
ner." 

He  took  their  luggage  and  they  followed  to  the  cov 
ered  station-wagon.  When  they  were  seated  the  boy 
stepped  into  the  front  seat,  turned  his  horses,  and  they 
trotted  away  into  the  darkness  of  a  forest  through 
which  ran  the  widely  winding  road. 

Fresh  and  aromatic  with  autumn  perfume  the  un 
broken  woods  stretched  away  on  either  hand  beneath  the 
splendour  of  the  stars.  Under  little  stone  bridges 
streams  darkled,  hurrying  to  the  valley;  a  lake  glim 
mered  through  the  trees  all  lustrous  in  the  starlight. 

Something — perhaps  the  beauty  of  the  night,  possi 
bly  the  imminence  of  his  departure,  kept  them  silent 
during  the  drive,  until,  at  last,  two  unlighted  gate-posts 
loomed  up  to  the  right  and  the  horses  swung  through 
a  pair  of  iron  gates  and  up  a  driveway  full  of  early 
fallen  leaves. 

A  single  light  sparkled  far  at  the  end  of  the  vista. 

"Have  you  ever  before  been  here?"  asked  Guild. 

"Once,  to  a  hunt." 

Presently  Guild  could  see  the  long,  two-storied  hunt 
ing  lodge  of  timber  and  stucco  construction  with  its 
high  peaked  roof  and  dormers  and  a  great  pair  of 
antlers  spreading  above  the  hood  of  the  door. 

Out  of  the  doorway  came  a  stout,  pleasant-eyed, 
brown-skinned  woman  who  curtsied  to  them  smilingly 
and  welcomed  them  in  German. 

Everything  was  ready;  they  had  been  expected. 
There  was  a  fire  in  the  hall  and  something  to  eat. 

193 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Guild  asked  to  be  driven  to  an  inn,  and  the  house 
keeper  seemed  surprised.  There  was  no  inn.  Her  or 
ders  were  to  prepare  a  room  for  Herr  Guild,  who  was 
expected  to  remain  over  night.  She  regretted  that  she 
could  not  make  them  more  comfortable,  but  the  Lodge 
had  been  closed  all  summer,  and  she  had  remained  alone 
with  her  son  Fritzl  to  care  for  the  place. 

There  seemed  to  be  nothing  for  him  to  do  but  to  stay 
over  night. 

Karen,  waiting  for  his  decision,  looked  pale  and  tired. 

"Very  well,"  he  said  to  Frau  Bergner,  who  curtsied 
and  went  away  for  their  candles.  Then  he  walked  over 
to  where  Karen  was  standing,  lifted  her  hand  and 
touched  the  slender  fingers  with  his  lips. 

"Good  night,"  she  said;  "I  hope  your  dreams  will 
be  agreeable." 

"I  hope  yours  will  be,  also." 

"I  hope  so.  I  shall  try  to  continue  a  dream  which  I 
had  on  the  train.  It  was  an  odd  one — something  about 
a  frontier  and  a  sentry  box.  You  woke  me  before  I  had 
entirely  crossed  the  frontier.  I'd  like  to  cross  and  find 
out  what  really  is  on  the  other  side." 

He  laughed : 

"I  hope  you  will  find,  there,  whatever  you  desire." 

"I — hope  so.  Because  if  I  should  cross  the  boundary 
and  find — nobody — there,  it  might  make  me  unhappy  for 
the  rest  of  my  life."  And  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a 
slight  blush  on  her  cheeks. 

Then  her  features  grew  grave,  her  eyes  serious,  clear, 
and  wistful. 


IN   CONFIDENCE 


"I  think  I  am — learning  to  care — a  great  deal  for 
you.  Don't  let  me  if  I  shouldn't.  Tell  me  while  there 
is  time." 

She  turned  as  the  housekeeper  came  with  the  lighted 
candles. 

Guild  stood  aside  for  her  to  pass,  his  grave  face  low 
ered,  silent  before  this  young  girl's  candour  and  the 
troubled  sincerity  of  her  avowal. 

In  his  own  room,  the  lighted  candle  still  in  his  hand, 
he  stood  motionless,  brooding  on  what  she  had  said. 

And  in  his  heart  he  knew  that,  although  he  had  never 
liked  any  woman  as  much  as  he  liked  this  young  girl, 
he  was  not  in  love  with  her.  And,  somehow  or  other, 
he  must  tell  her  so — while  there  was  still  time. 


CHAPTER    XVI 

THE    FOREST    LISTENS 

HE  awoke  in  a  flood  of  brightest  sunshine;  his 
bed,  the  floor,  the  walls,  were  bathed  in  it; 
netted  reflections  of  water  danced  and  quivered 
on  the  ceiling;  and  he  lay  looking  at  it,  pleasantly  con 
scious  of  green  leaves  stirring  near  his  open  window 
and  of  the  golden  splashing  of  a  fountain. 

There  was  a  little  bird  out  there,  too,  diligently  prac 
ticing  a  few  notes.  The  song  was  not  elaborate.  Trans 
lated,  it  seemed  to  consist  of  tweet !  tweet !  twilly-willy- 
willy!  repeated  an  indefinite  number  of  times. 

Curious  to  discover  what  his  surroundings  resem 
bled  he  rose  and  looked  out  of  the  curtained  window. 
There  was  a  grassy  carrefour  where  a  fountain  spouted 
into  a  stone  pool ;  all  else  was  forest ;  a  stream  sparkled 
between  tree-trunks,  bridged  where  the  drive  crossed  it. 

To  bathe  and  dress  did  not  take  him  very  long.  In 
the  hall,  which  seemed  to  be  the  main  living-room  below, 
he  prowled  about,  examining  a  number  of  antlers  and 
boar-heads  mounted  on  the  beamed  and  plastered  walls. 
The  former  had  been  set  up  in  German  fashion,  antlers, 
brow-antlers,  and  frontal  bone;  and  these  trophies  ap- 

196 


THE  FOREST  LISTENS 

peared  to  him  uninteresting — even  a  trifle  ghastly  when 
the  bleached  skull  also  was  included. 

The  boars'  heads  were  better,  nothing  extraordinary 
in  size,  but  well-tusked.  The  taxidermy,  however,  was 
wretched. 

The  square  hall  itself  did  not  appear  particularly 
inviting.  The  usual  long  oak  table  and  benches  were 
there,  a  number  of  leather  arm-chairs,  book-racks,  cue- 
racks,  gun-racks  with  glazed  panes  to  protect  the  weap 
ons,  a  festoon  of  spears,  hunting  knives  and  curly  hunt 
ing  horns,  skins  on  the  floor,  brown  bear,  wolf,  and 
stag. 

A  badly  stuffed  otter  displayed  its  teeth  on  the  man 
tle  over  the  fireplace  between  a  pair  of  fighting  cock 
pheasants  and  a  jar  of  alcohol  containing  a  large  viper, 
which  embellishments  did  not  add  to  the  cheerfulness 
of  the  place. 

For  the  rest  there  was  a  billiard  table  shrouded  in  a 
rubber  cloth,  and  three  well-engraved  portraits  on  the 
walls,  Bismarck,  after  Lehnbach,  Frederick  the  Great 
playing  on  a  flute  like  fury,  and  the  great  War  Lord 
of  Europe  himself,  mustaches  on  end,  sombre-eyed,  sul 
len,  cased  in  the  magnificent  steel  panoply  of  the  Guard 
Cuirassiers.  The  art  gallery  bored  Guild,  and  he 
opened  a  door  which  he  suspected  communicated  with 
the  pantry. 

It  was  a  valet's  closet  and  it  smelled  of  camphor. 
Shooting-coats  hung  on  stretchers ;  high-laced  shoot 
ing-boots  were  ranged  in  rows.  On  a  chair  lay  Ka 
ren's  skirt  and  blouse-coat  of  covert  cloth.  Both  were 

197 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


still  slightly  damp  and  wrinkled.  Evidently  they  had 
been  brought  down  here  to  be  brushed  and  pressed  while 
Karen  slept. 

Passing  his  hand  over  the  brown  silk  lining  of  the 
coat  gave  him  no  clue  to  the  hiding-place  of  the  pa 
pers  ;  what  revealed  their  presence  was  a  seam  which 
had  been  hurriedly  basted  with  black  thread.  The  keen 
point  of  his  pocket-knife  released  the  basting.  He  drew 
out  the  papers,  counted  them,  identified  them  one  by 
one,  and  placed  them  in  his  breast  pocket.  Then  he 
laid  the  coat  across  the  back  of  the  chair  again  and 
went  out. 

He  had  two  hours  to  wait  before  there  could  be  any 
decent  hope  of  breakfast.  Nobody  seemed  to  be  stir 
ring  in  the  house.  After  a  few  minutes  he  unlocked  the 
front  door  and  went  out  into  the  early  sunshine. 

It  was  as  warm  as  a  spring  day ;  rain  had  freshened 
grass  and  trees ;  he  sat  down  on  the  fountain's  rim  and 
looked  into  the  pool  where  a  dozen  trout  lay  motionless, 
their  fins  winnowing  the  icy  water. 

No  doubt  some  spring,  high  on  the  wooded  hills,  had 
been  piped  down  to  furnish  the  pool  with  this  perpet 
ually  bubbling  jet. 

The  little  bird  who  had  entertained  him  vocally  ear 
lier  in  the  morning  was  still  vocal  somewhere  in  a  huge 
beech-tree.  Around  a  spot  of  moisture  on  the  gravel- 
drive  two  butterflies  flitted  incessantly.  And  over  all 
brooded  the  calm  and  exquisite  silence  of  the  forest. 

An  hour  or  more  later  he  got  up  and  re-entered  the 
house. 

198 


THE   FOEEST   LISTENS 

First  he  took  a  look  at  the  valet's  room.  Evidently 
Karen's  clothes  had  been  brushed  and  pressed,  for  they 
had  disappeared. 

Another  door  in  the  square  hall  promised  to  lead  into 
the  pantry,  judging  from  significant  sounds  within. 

It  did,  and  the  housekeeper  was  in  there  as  energet 
ically  busy  as  every  German  woman  always  is  when 
occupied.  And  German  women  are  always  occupied. 

The  kindly  soul  appeared  to  be  much  flattered  by  his 
visit.  They  had  quite  a  gossiping  time  of  it  while  she 
was  preparing  the  breakfast  dishes. 

It  was  mostly  a  monologue. 

No,  she  and  Fritzl  were  not  lonely  at  Quellenheim, 
although  it  was  pleasant  to  have  the  Lodge  open  and  a 
noble  company  there  shooting.  But,  like  Marlbrook, 
the  Herr  Baron  had  gone  to  the  wars — alas ! — and  it 
might  take  him  some  time  to  capture  Paris  and  London 
and  set  the  remainder  of  the  world  in  order. 

But  it  really  seemed  too  bad ;  the  Herr  Baron  was 
fond  of  his  shooting ;  Fritzl  had  reported  some  good 
antlers  in  the  forest,  and  a  grey  boar  or  two — but  enor 
mous  !  As  for  the  place  it  would  certainly  go  to  ruin 
what  with  faggot  stealers  and  godless  poachers ! — And 
the  foresters,  keepers,  and  even  the  wood-choppers  all 
gone  off  and  deserting  the  place — think  of  it ! — the  un 
grateful  Kerls — gone! — and  doubtless  to  join  the  crazy 
Belgian  army  which  had  refused  to  permit  Prussian 
troops  to  pass !  Prussian  troops !  The  impudence  of 
it!  Gratitude!  There  was  little  of  that  in  the  world 
it  seemed. 

199 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"When  does  the  Herr  Baron  return  here?"  inquired 
Guild,  smiling. 

It  appeared  that  the  Herr  Baron  was  to  have  arrived 
at  Quellenheim  this  very  week.  But  yesterday  his  adju 
tant  telegraphed  that  he  could  not  come  perhaps  for 
many  weeks.  No  doubt  he  was  very  busy  chasing  the 
French  and  English.  It  was  a  pity;  because  the  au 
tumn  is  zvunderschon  at  Quellenheim.  And  as  for  the 
deer ! — they  stand  even  in  the  driveway  and  look  at  the 
Lodge,  doubtless  wondering,  sir,  why  they  are  neglected 
by  the  hunters,  and  asking  one  another  why  good  fat 
venison  is  no  longer  appreciated  at  Quellenheim. 

"Could  you  tell  me  where  I  may  telegraph  to  the 
Herr  Baron?"  asked  the  young  man,  immensely  amused 
by  her  gossip. 

"That  I  can,  sir.  My  careful  household  reports  are 
sent  to  the  Herr  Baron  through  military  headquarters 
at  Arenstein?  Prussia.  That  is  where  he  is  to  be  ad 
dressed." 

"And  a  telegraph  office?" 

"At  the  railroad  station." 

"In  communication  with  Prussia?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  she  said  with  a  vigorous  nod.  "And 
whenever  any  of  the  yokels  here  about  tamper  with 
the  wires  the  Uhlans  come  and  chase  them  till  they 
think  the  devil  is  after  them !" 

"Uhlans.     Here?" 

"And  why  not?  Certainly  the  Uhlans  come  occa 
sionally.  They  come  when  it  is  necessary.  Also  they 
cross  the  Grand  Duchy  when  they  please." 

200 


THE   FOREST  LISTENS 

"Then,  if  I  write  out  a  telegram  here " 

"Fritzl  will  take  it,  never  fear,  sir.  Leave  it  on  the 
billiard  table — any  telegrams  or  letters — and  they  shall 
be  sent  when  Fritzl  drives  to  the  station." 

"Where,"  he  inquired,  "is  Lesse  Forest?"  And  could 
he  send  a  messenger? 

"Lesse  Forest?  Why  the  chasse  wall  separates  the 
range  of  the  Lesse  Hills  from  Quellenheim.  Any  peas 
ant  at  Trois  Fontaines  who  possesses  a  bicycle  could 
take  a  message  and  return  in  an  hour." 

"Do  you  know  who  leases  the  chasse  at  Lesse?" 

"Yes.     Some  wealthy  Americans." 

So  he  smiled  his  thanks  and  returned  to  the  hall. 
There  was  writing  material  on  the  long  oak  table. 
And  first  of  all  he  wrote  out  a  brief  telegram  to 
General  von  Reiter  saying  that  he  had  fulfilled  his 
promise. 

This  was  all  he  might  venture  to  say  in  a  telegram; 
the  rest  he  embodied  in  his  letter  to  the  Herr  Baron : 

Having  telegraphed  to  you,  and  fulfilled  my 
enforced  obligations  to  the  letter,  I  am  confident 
that  you,  in  your  turn,  will  fulfill  yours,  release 
the  hostages  held  by  your  troops  at  Yslemont, 
and  spare  the  village  any  further  destruction  and 
indemnity. 

You  had  made  it  a  part  of  the  contract  that,  in 
case  you  were  not  at  Quellenheim,  I  was  to  re 
main  over  night  under  your  roof. 

I  therefore  have  done  so.  It  was  not  an  agree 
able  sensation,  and  your  forced  hospitality,  you 

201 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


will  recognize,  imposes  no  obligations  upon  an 
unwilling  guest. 

Now,  as  I  say,  the  last  and  least  item  of  my  in 
debtedness  to  you  is  finally  extinguished,  and  I 
am  free  once  more  to  do  what  I  choose. 

I  shall  be  a  consistent  enemy  to  your  country  in 
whatever  capacity  the  Belgian  Government  may 
see  fit  to  employ  me.  I  shall  do  your  country  all 
the  harm  I  can.  Not  being  a  public  executioner 
I  have  given  the  spies  in  your  employment  in 
London  a  week's  grace  to  clear  out  before  I  place 
proofs  of  their  identity  in  the  hands  of  the  British 
Government. 

This,  I  believe,,  closes,  for  the  present,  our  per 
sonal  account. 

Miss  Girard  is  well,  suffered  no  particular  hard 
ship,  and  is,  I  suppose,  quite  safe  at  Quellenheim 
where  your  capable  housekeeper  and  her  son  are 
in  charge  of  the  Lodge. 

May  I  add  that,  personally,  I  entertain  no  ani 
mosity  toward  you  or  toward  any  German,  indi 
vidually — only  a  deep  and  inextinguishable  hatred 
toward  all  that  your  Empire  stands  for,  and  a  de 
sire  to  aid  in  the  annihilation  of  this  monstrous 
anachronism  of  the  twentieth  century. 

When  he  had  signed  and  sealed  this,  and  directed  it, 
he  wrote  to  his  friend  Barrel: 

DEAR  HARRY: 

If  you  are  at  Lesse  Forest  still,  which  I  un 
derstand  adjoins  the  hills  of  Quellenheim — and  if 

202 


THE   FOREST  LISTENS 


your  friends  the  Courlands  still  care  to  ask  me  for 
a  day  or  two,  I  shall  be  very  glad  to  come.  I  am 
at  Quellenheim,  Trois  Fontaines. 

Please  destroy  the  letter  I  intrusted  to  you  to 
send  to  my  mother.  Everything  is  all  right  again. 
I  may  even  have  time  to  fish  with  you  for  a  day 
or  two. 

The  messenger  from  Trois  Fontaines  who  takes 
this  will  wait  for  an  answer. 

Please  convey  my  respect  and  my  very  lively 
sense  of  obligation  to  the  Courlands.  And  don't 
let  them  ask  me  if  it  inconveniences  them.  I  can 
go  to  Luxembourg  just  as  well  and  see  you  there 
if  you  can  run  over. 

Did  you  get  my  luggage?  I  am  wearing  my 
last  clean  shirt.  But  my  clothes  are  the  limit. 

If  I  am  to  stop  for  a  day  or  two  at  the  Cour 
lands  please  telegraph  to  Luxembourg  for  my  lug 
gage  as  soon  as  you  receive  this. 

Yours  as  usual, 

GUILD. 
P.  S. 

Do  Uhlans  ever  annoy  the  Courlands?  I  imag 
ine  that  Lesse  is  too  far  from  the  railway  and  too 
unimportant  from  a  military  standpoint  to  figure 
at  all  in  any  operations  along  the  edge  of  the 
Grand  Duchy.  And  also  any  of  the  Ardennes  is 
unfit  as  a  highway  between  Rhenish  Prussia  and 
France.  Am  I  correct?  G. 

He  had  sealed  and  directed  this  letter,  and  was  gaz 
ing  meditatively  out  of  the  diamond-leaded  windows  at 

203 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


the  splashing  fountain  in  the  court,  when  a  slight  sound 
attracted  his  attention  and  he  turned,  then  rose  and 
stepped  forward. 

Karen  gave  him  her  hand,  smiling.  In  the  other  hand 
she  held  the  last  of  her  orchids. 

"Are  you  rested?"  he  asked. 

"Yes.     Are  you?" 

"Perfectly,  thank  you.  Really  it  is  beautiful  out 
side  the  house." 

She  lifted  her  lovely  eyes  and  stood  gazing  out  into 
the  sunshine. 

"There  is  no  word  from  General  von  Reiter?"  she 
asked,  absently  caressing  her  cheek  with  the  fragrant 
blossom  in  her  hand. 

"Not  yet,"  he  said. 

"If  none  comes,  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I  am  free,  anyhow,  to  leave  now." 

"Free?" 

"Free  of  my  engagement  with  Baron  von  Reiter." 

"Free  of  your  obligations  to — me?"  she  asked  in  a 
low  voice. 

He  turned  to  her  seriously:  "My  allegiance  to  you 
needs  no  renewal,  Karen,  because  it  has  never  been 
broken.  You  have  my  friendship  if  you  wish  for  it. 
It  is  yours  always  as  long  as  you  care  for  it." 

"I  do.  .  .  .  Are  you  going  to  leave — Quellenheim  ?" 

"Yes." 

"When?" 

"When  a  messenger  brings  me  an  answer  to  a  letter 
which  I  shall  send  this  morning." 

204 


THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

She  stood  caressing  her  lips  with  his  flower  and  gaz 
ing  dreamily  into  the  forest. 

"So  you  really  are  going,"  she  said. 

"I  cannot  help  it." 

"I  thought" — she  forced  a  smile — "that  you  intended 
to  rob  me  first." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"Had  you  forgotten  ?"  she  asked,  still  with  the  forced 
smile. 

"No." 

"Do  you  still  mean  to  do  it?" 

"I  told  you  that  I  had  to  have  the  papers." 

"Yes,  and  I  told  you  that  I  should  make  it  as  diffi 
cult  as  I  could  for  you.  And  I'm  going  to.  Because  I 
don't  want  you  to  go."  She  laughed,  then  sighed  very 
frankly:  "Of  course,"  she  added,  "I  don't  suppose  I 
could  keep  them  very  long  if  you  have  made  up  your 
mind  to  take  them." 

"Is  that  your  idea  of  me?"  he  asked,  laughing. 

She  nodded,  thoughtfully:  "You  take  what  you 
want,  sooner  or  later.  There  is  no  hope  in  oppos 
ing  you.  You  are  that  kind  of  man.  I  have  learned 
that." 

She  touched  the  orchid  to  her  chin  meditatively  "It 
surprised  me,"  she  added.  "I  have  not  been  accustomed 
to  authority  like  yours.  I  am  my  own  mistress,  and  I 
supposed  I  was  accountable  to  myself  alone.  But — " 
she  lifted  her  eyes,  "it  appears  that  I  am  accountable 
to  you.  And  the  realization  does  not  seem  to  anger  me 
very  deeply." 

£05 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


He  looked  away:  "I  do  not  try  to  control  you,  Ka 
ren,"  he  said  in  a  low  voice. 

"You  have  done  so  whether  or  not  you  have  tried.  I 
don't  know  what  has  happened  to  me.  Do  you?" 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  forcing  a  laugh.  "Except  you 
are  learning  that  the  greatest  pleasure  of  friendship  is 
a  confidence  in  it  which  nothing  can  disturb." 

"Confidence  in  friendship — yes.  But  confidence  in 
you! — that  ended  in  our  stateroom.  Without  confi 
dence  I  thought  friendship  impossible.  .  .  .  And  here 
I  am  asking  you  not  to  go  away — because  I — shall  miss 
you.  Will  you  tell  me  what  is  the  matter  with  a  girl 
who  has  no  confidence  in  a  man  and  who  desires  his  com 
panionship  as  I  do  yours?"  Her  cheeks  flushed,  but 
her  eyes  were  steady,  bright,  and  intelligent:  "Am  I 
going  to  fall  in  love  with  you,  Kervyn?" 

He  laughed  mirthlessly :  "No,  not  if  you  can  reason 
with  yourself  about  it,"  he  said.  "It  merely  means  that 
you  are  the  finest,  most  honest,  most  fearless  woman  I 
ever  knew,  capable  of  the  most  splendid  friendship,  not 
afraid  to  show  it.  That  is  all  it  means,  Karen.  And  I 
am  deeply,  humbly  grateful.  .  .  .  And  very  miserable. 
.  .  .  Because " 

The  entrance  of  Frau  Bergner  with  the  breakfast  tray 
checked  him.  They  both  turned  toward  the  long  oak 
table. 

Fortunately  the  culinary  school  where  the  house 
keeper  had  acquired  her  proficiency  was  not  German. 
She  had  learned  her  art  in  Alsace. 

So  the  coffee  was  fragrant  and  the  omelette  a  dream ; 

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THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

and  there  were  grapes  from  the  kitchen  arbour  and 
ham  from  a  larder  never  lacking  the  succulent  by-prod 
ucts  of  the  sanglier  of  the  Ardennes. 

Frau  Bergner  took  his  letters  and  telegram,  promis 
ing  that  Fritzl  should  find  somebody  with  a  bicycle  at 
Trois  Fontaines  to  carry  the  other  note  to  Lesse  Forest. 

She  hovered  over  them  while  they  ate.  The  breakfast 
was  a  silent  one. 

Afterward  Karen  wrote  a  number  of  notes  addressed 
to  her  modiste  in  Berlin  and  to  various  people  who 
might,  in  her  present  emergency,  supply  her  with  some 
thing  resembling  a  wardrobe. 

Guild  had  taken  his  pipe  out  to  the  fountain,  where 
she  could  see  him  through  the  window,  seated  on  the 
coping  of  the  pool,  smoking  and  tracing  circles  in  the 
gravel  with  a  broken  twig. 

She  hurried  her  notes,  called  the  housekeeper  to  take 
them,  then,  without  taking  hat  or  gloves,  she  went  out 
into  the  sunshine.  The  habit,  so  easily  acquired,  of 
being  with  Guild  was  becoming  a  necessity,  and  neither 
to  herself  nor  to  him  had  it  yet  occurred  to  her  to  pre 
tend  anything  different. 

There  was,  in  her,  an  inherent  candour,  which  un 
qualified,  perhaps  unsoftened  by  coquetry,  surprises 
more  than  it  attracts  a  man. 

But  its  very  honesty  is  its  undoing;  it  fails  to  hold 
the  complex  masculine  mind ;  its  attractiveness  is  not 
permanent.  For  the  average  man  requires  the  subtlety 
of  charm  to  stir  him  to  sentiment;  and  charm  means 
uncertainty;  and  uncertainty,  effort. 

207 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


No  effortless  conquest  means  more  to  a  man  than 
friendship.  And  friendship  is  nothing  new  to  a  man. 

But  it  was  new  to  Karen ;  she  had  opened  her  mind 
to  it ;  she  was  opening  her  heart  to  it,  curious  concern 
ing  it,  interested  as  she  had  never  before  been,  sincere 
about  it — sincere  with  herself. 

Never  before  had  the  girl  cared  for  a  man  more  than 
she  had  cared  about  any  woman.  The  women  she  had 
known  had  not  been  inferior  in  intelligence  to  the  men 
she  knew.  And  a  normal  and  wholesome  mind  and  heart 
harbour  little  sentiment  when  the  mind  is  busy  and  the 
body  sound. 

But  since  she  had  known  this  man  she  knew  also  that 
he  had  appealed  to  something  more  than  her  intelli 
gence. 

Vaguely  realizing  this  in  the  crisis  threatened  by  his 
violence,  she  had  warned  him  that  he  was  violating  some 
thing  more  than  friendship. 

Then  the  episode  had  passed  and  become  only  an 
unquiet  memory;  but  the  desire  for  his  companionship 
had  not  passed;  it  increased,  strengthening  itself  with 
every  hour  in  his  company,  withstanding  self-analysis, 
self-reproach,  defying  resentment,  mocking  her  efforts 
to  stimulate  every  tradition  of  pride — even  pride  itself. 

Deeply  conscious  of  the  power  his  personality  exer 
cised  over  her,  perplexed,  even  bewildered  at  herself, 
she  had  not  only  endured  the  intimacy  of  contact  with 
him,  but  in  her  heart  she  accepted  it,  cared  for  it,  was 
conscious  of  relaxation  and  contentment  except  for  the 
constant  array  of  traditional  indictments  which  her  con- 

208 


THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

science  was  busily  and  automatically  finding  against 
her. 

She  could  not  comprehend  why  what  he  had  done  had 
not  annihilated  her  interest  in  him ;  why  she,  even  with 
effort,  could  find  in  her  mind  no  abiding  anger,  no 
scorn,  no  contempt  for  him  or  for  what  he  had  done. 

And  because  she  was  intelligent  and  healthy,  in  her 
perplexity  she  had  tried  to  reason — had  found  nothing 
to  account  for  her  state  of  mind  unless  love  could 
account  for  it — and  knowing  nothing  of  love,  had 
admitted  the  possibility  to  herself  and  even  to  him. 
Intelligence,  candour,  ignorance  of  deeper  emotion — 
coupled  with  the  normal  mental  and  physical  innocence 
of  a  young  girl — this  was  the  character  she  had  been 
born  with  and  which  had  naturally  and  logically  de 
veloped  through  nineteen  years  of  mental  and  bodily 
cultivation.  The  girl  was  most  fatally  equipped  for 
an  awakening. 

He  stood  up  when  she  appeared,  knocked  out  his 
pipe  and  advanced  to  meet  her.  He  had  been  doing  a 
lot  of  thinking.  And  he  had  concluded  to  talk  very 
frankly  to  her  about  her  friendship  with  him — frankly, 
kindly,  discouraging  gaily  any  mistaken  notion  she 
might  harbour  that  there  could  be  any  room,  any  rea 
son,  any  fitness  for  a  deeper  sentiment  in  this  friend 
ship — anything  more  significant  than  the  delightful  and 
frank  affection  now  existing  between  them. 

"Shall  we  walk  in  the  forest,  Karen?"  he  said. 

"Yes,  please." 

209 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


So  they  turned  into  a  sentier  which  curved  away 
through  a  fern-set  rabbit  warren,  over  a  wooden  foot 
bridge,  and  then  led  them  on  through  alternate  flecks 
of  sunshine  and  shadow  through  a  noble  forest  of  beech 
and  oak. 

The  green  and  brown  mast  lay  thick  under-foot, 
premature  harvest  of  windfalls — perhaps  the  prodigal 
ity  of  those  reckless  sylvan  spendthrifts,  the  squirrels 
and  jays. 

Here  and  there  a  cock-pheasant  ran  through  a  spinny 
at  their  approach;  rabbits  scuttled  into  wastes  of 
bracken  as  yet  uncurled  and  unblemished  by  a  frost ;  dis 
tant  crashes  and  a  dull  galloping  signalled  the  unseen 
flight  of  deer.  Now  and  then  the  dark  disturbance  of 
the  forest  floor  betrayed  where  the  horny,  furry  snouts 
of  boar  had  left  furrows  of  fresh  black  earth  amid  the 
acorns. 

They  came  upon  the  stream  again — or  perhaps  a 
different  little  brook,  splashing  and  curling  amid  its 
ferns  and  green,  drenched  mosses.  Stepping  stones 
crossed  it ;  Karen  passed  lightly,  surely,  on  little  flying 
feet,  and  stood  laughing  on  the  other  side  as  he  paused 
to  poke  about  in  the  pool  in  hopes  of  starting  a  trout 
into  arrowy  flight. 

When  he  crossed  she  had  seated  herself  under  a  fir, 
the  branches  of  which  swept  the  ground  around  her; 
and  so  utterly  had  she  vanished  that  she  was  obliged  to 
call  him  before  he  could  discover  her  whereabouts. 

"Under  this  green  tent,"  she  said,  "if  I  had  a  bed, 
and  some  books,  and  clothes,  and  food,  and  my  maid 

210 


THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

and — a  piano,  I  could  live  most  happily  all  summer." 
She  laughed,  looked  at  him — "if  I  had  all  these  and — 
you"  she  added. 

"Why  drag  me  into  such  a  perfect  paradise?" 

"I  shouldn't  drag  you,"  she  said  gravely.  "I  should 
merely  tell  you  where  I  lived." 

"I  didn't  mean  it  that  way." 

"You  might  have,  with  reason.  I  have  demanded  a 
great  deal  of  your  time." 

"I  have  demanded  all  of  yours !"  he  retorted,  lightly. 

"Not  more  than  I  was  content  to  give.  ...  It  seems 
all  a  dream  to  me — which  began  when  you  rang  the 
bell  at  Hyacinth  Villa  and  roused  me  from  my  sleep. 
And,"  she  added  with  a  gay  flash  of  malice,  "you  have 
kept  me  awake  ever  since." 

"And  you,  me!" 

"Not  a  bit!    You  slept  in  the  railway  car." 

"So  did  you." 

"In  your  arms,  practically.  .  .  ."  She  looked  up 
at  him  curiously :  "What  did  you  think  of  me,  Kervyn?" 

"I  thought  you  were  an  exceedingly  tired  girl." 

"I  was.     Is  that  all  you  thought  about  it?" 

"You  know,"  he  said,  laughing,  "when  a  man  is 
asleep  he  doesn't  do  much  thinking." 

"What  did  you  think  afterward?" 

"About  what?" 

"About  my  sleeping  against  your  shoulder?" 

"Nothing,"  he  said  carelessly. 

"Were  you  quite — indifferent?" 

He  didn't  know  how  to  answer. 

211 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"I  was  not,"  she  said.  "I  was  contented,  and  I 
thought  continually  about  our  friendship — except  when 
what  I  was  doing  made  me  uneasy  about — what  I  was 
doing.  .  .  .  Isn't  it  curious  that  a  girl  could  do  a  thing 
like  that  and  feel  comfortable  except  when  she  remem 
bered  that  a  girl  doesn't  usually  do  a  thing  like  that?" 

He  began  to  laugh,  and  she  laughed,  too. 

She  said:  "Always  my  inclination  has  been,  from  a 
child,  to  explain  things  to  myself.  But  I  can't  explain 
you,  yet.  You  are  very  different,  you  know." 

"Not  a  bit " 

"Yes,  please.  I've  found  that  out.  .  .  .  Tell  me,  do 
you  really  mean  to  go  today?" 

"Yes,  Karen,  I  do." 

"Couldn't  you  stay?" 

"I  really  couldn't." 

"Why,  please?" 

"I  must  be  about  my  business." 

"Enlistment?" 

"Yes." 

"In  the  Guides,"  she  said,  as  though  to  herself. 

He  nodded. 

"The  Guides,"  she  repeated,  looking  rather  vacantly 
at  a  sun  spot  that  waxed  and  waned  on  the  dry  carpet 
of  fir-needles  at  her  feet.  "I  have  seen  them.  They  are 
odd,  with  their  furry  headgear  and  their  green  jackets 
and  boots  and  cherry-red  breeches.  ...  I  have  danced 
with  officers  of  the  Guides  in  Brussels.  ...  I  never 
thought  that  my  first  man  friend  would  be  an  officer  in 
the  Guides." 

212 


THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

"I  never  thought  my  best  friend  among  women 
would  be  the  first  woman  I  ever  robbed,"  he  said  rather 
grimly. 

"Oh,  but  you  haven't  done  it  yet!  And  I  don't  see 
how  you  propose  to  do  it." 

He  looked  up,  forcing  a  smile: 

"Don't  you?" 

"Not  if  you  are  going  away.  How  can  you?  The 
only  way  I  can  see  is  for  you  to  stay  at  Quellenheim  in 
hopes  that  I  might  forget  to  lock  my  door  some  night. 
You  know,"  she  said,  almost  wistfully,  "I  might  forget 
— if  you  remained  long  enough." 

He  shook  his  head. 

"Then  you  have  given  it  up?" 

"No." 

"But  I  don't  see!" 

She  was  so  pretty  in  her  perplexity,  so  utterly  with 
out  art  in  her  frankness  and  curiosity  that  the  impulse 
to  mystify  and  torment  her  possessed  him. 

"Will  you  bet  that  I  shall  not  have  those  papers  in 
my  possession  within  ten  minutes?"  he  asked. 

"How  can  you?" 

"I  can.     And  I  shall." 

She  gazed  at  him  incredulously,  then  suddenly  her 
cheeks  lost  their  colour  and  she  stood  up  under  the 
fir-tree. 

"Must  I  take  them  or  will  you  give  them  up,  Karen  ?" 
he  asked,  laughing,  as  he  rose. 

She  took  a  step  backward,  away  from  him.  The  tree- 
trunk  checked  her. 

213 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"You  know  I  can't  give  them  to  you,"  she  said  un 
steadily.  "It  would  be  dishonourable." 

"Am  I  to  take  them?" 

"Are  you  going  to?" 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  rather  than  surrender 
them  you  would  endure  such  violence  as  that  ?" 

"I  promised.  .  .  .  Are  you  going  to — to  hurt  me, 
Kervyn?"  she  stammered. 

"I'll  try  not  to." 

She  stood  there,  breathing  fast,  white,  defiant. 

"You'll  have  to  surrender,"  he  said.  "You  might  as 
well.  It's  an  honourable  capitulation  in  the  presence 
of  superior  force." 

"No." 

"You  refuse?" 

"Yes,  please." 

He  said :  "Very  well,  then,"  with  an  alarming  frown. 

"Kervyn " 

"What?" 

"If  you  tear  my  gown  I — I  shall  have  to  go  to 
bed." 

"I'm  not  going  to  touch  your  gown,"  he  said.  "I'm 
going  to  charm  those  papers  so  they'll  leave  their  hid 
ing  place  and  fly  into  my  pocket.  Watch  me  very 
attentively,  Karen!"  And  he  tucked  up  his  cuffs  and 
made  a  few  short  passes  in  the  air.  Then  he  smiled 
at  her. 

"Kervyn !  I  thought  you  meant  to  take  them.  Do 
you  know  you  really  did  frighten  me?" 

"I  have  got  them,"  he  said. 

214 


THE   FOREST   LISTENS 

The  colour  came  back  into  her  cheeks;  she  smiled  at 
him  in  a  breathless  way. 

"You  did  frighten  me,"  she  said.  She  came  slowly 
back  and  seated  herself  on  the  carpet  of  fir-needles.  He 
sat  down  beside  her. 

"Karen,  dear,"  he  said,  "you  are  a  brick  and  I'm  a 
brute.  I  took  your  papers  this  morning.  I  had  to, 
dear." 

And  he  drew  them  from  his  breast  pocket  and  showed 
them  to  her. 

The  girl  sat  in  wide-eyed  amazement  for  a  moment. 
Suddenly  her  face  flushed  and  the  tears  flashed  in  her 
eyes. 

"You  have  ridiculed  me!"  she  said.  "You  have 
treated  me  like  a  child!" 

"Karen " 

"I  will  not  listen !  I  shall  never  listen  to  you  again ! 
You  have  played  with  me,  hurt  me,  humiliated  me.  You 
have  ruled  and  overruled  me!  You  gained  my  friend 
ship  and  treated  it — and  me — without  ceremony.  And 
I  let  you!  I  must  have  been  mad " 

Her  mouth  quivered ;  she  clenched  her  hands,  gazing 
at  him  through  eyes  that  glimmered  wet: 

"How  could  you  do  it  ?  I  was  honest  with  you ;  I 
had  had  no  experience  with  a  man  I  cared  for.  You 
knew  it.  You  let  me  care  for  you  until  I  didn't  under 
stand — until  the  sincerity  and  force  of  what  I  felt  for 
you  bewildered  me ! 

"And  now — and  now  I  am — unhappy — unhappy — • 
miserable,  ashamed — "  She  caught  her  breath,  scarcely 

215 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


able  to  see  him  through  her  tears — no  longer  able  to 
control  the  quivering  lip. 

She  rose  swiftly,  encountered  something — his  arm — 
felt  herself  drawn  resistlessly  into  his  embrace. 

"Forgive  me,  Karen,"  he  said.  "I  did  not  realize — 
what  was  happening  to — us  both." 

She  rested  her  forehead  on  his  shoulder  for  a 
moment. 

"Can  you  forgive  me,  Karen?" 

"Yes." 

"You  know  I  truly  care  for  you?" 

"Yes." 

Scarcely  knowing  what  he  was  doing,  he  bent  to 
touch  her  forehead  with  his  lips,  and  she  lifted  her  face 
at  the  same  moment.  His  kiss  fell  on  her  mouth,  and 
she  responded.  At  the  same  instant  her  girlhood  ended 
forever — vanished  on  her  lips  in  a  little  sigh. 

Dazed,  silenced,  a  trifle  faint,  she  turned  from  him 
blindly. 

"Please,"  she  whispered,  in  the  ghost  of  a  voice ;  and 
he  released  her. 

For  a  few  moments  she  stood  resting  against  the 
fir-tree,  her  left  arm  across  her  eyes,  frightened,  mo 
tionless. 

The  forest  was  very  still  around  her,  as  though 
every  leaf  were  listening. 


CHAPTER    XVII 

HER    FIRST    CAMPAIGN 

KAREN,"  she  heard  him  say,  in   a   constrained 
and  unfamiliar  voice,  "I  love  you." 

If  he  thought  he  was  still  speaking  to  the 
same  girl  whose  soft  and  fragrant  lips  he  had  touched 
a  moment  before,  he  was  mistaken.  He  spoke  too  late. 
The  girl  had  vanished  with  her  girlhood. 

And  now  it  was  with  a  very  different  sort  of  being 
he  had  to  do — with  a  woman  whose  mind  had  quickened 
under  shock ;  whose  latent  emotions  had  been  made  con 
scious  ;  whose  spirit,  awakened  by  a  crisis,  was  already 
armoured  and  in  arms.  Aroused,  alert,  every  instinct 
awake,  proud  of  a  new  and  radiant  knowledge,  new 
motives  germinated,  new  impulses  possessed  her;  a  new 
and  delicious  wisdom  thrilled  her.  She  was  ready,  and 
she  realized  it. 

"Karen?" 

She  heard  him  perfectly.  Deep  within  her  something 
was  laughing.  There  was  no  hurry.  She  knew  it. 

"Karen?"  he  said,  very  humbly. 

Conscious  of  the  change  within  herself,  still  a  little 
surprised  and  excited  by  it,  and  by  a  vaguely  exquisite 

217 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


sensation  of  impending  adventure,  of  perils  charmingly 
indefinite,  of  the  newness  of  it  all,  deep,  deep  within  her 
she  felt  the  certainty,  the  tranquillity,  the  sweet  in 
toxication  of  power.  Power!  She  knew  she  was  using 
it  now.  She  knew  she  was  exercising  it  on  this  man. 
And,  for  a  second,  the  grasp  of  the  new  weapon  almost 
frightened  her.  For  it  was  her  first  campaign.  And 
she  had  not  yet  reconnoitered  the  adversary  or  fully 
developed  his  strength  and  position.  Man,  as  an  ad 
versary,  was  still  unknown  to  her. 

"Karen?"  he  ventured,  rather  anxiously. 

Instantly  she  lost  a  large  portion  of  her  fear  of  him. 
Oh!  but  she  had  a  long,  long  reckoning  to  settle  yet 
with  him.  She  cast  a  swift  glance  backward,  but  already 
her  girlhood  was  gone — gone  with  its  simplicity,  its 
quaint  perplexities,  its  dear  ignorance,  its  pathos,  its 
helplessness  before  experience,  its  naivete,  its  faith. 

It  had  gone,  slipped  away,  exhaled  in  a  deep,  uncon 
scious  sigh.  And  suddenly  she  flushed  hotly,  remem 
bering  his  lips.  Truly,  truly  there  was  a  long  reckon 
ing  still  to  come.  .  .  .  But  there  seemed  to  be  no  hurry. 

Still  leaning  against  the  tree,  she  fumbled  for  her 
handkerchief,  touched  her  eyes  with  it  leisurely,  then, 
still  turning  her  back  to  him,  she  lifted  her  hands  to 
her  hair. 

For  a  first  campaign  she  was  doing  very  well. 

Her  thick,  burnished  hair  was  not  in  any  desperate 
disorder,  but  she  touched  it  here  and  there,  patted, 
tucked,  caressed  it  with  light,  swift  fingers,  delicately 
precise  as  the  exploring  antennae  of  a  butterfly. 

218 


HER   FIRST   CAMPAIGN 

"Give  me  my  answer,  Karen,"  he  urged,  in  a  low 
voice,  stepping  nearer.  Instantly  she  moved  lightly 
aside  to  avoid  him — just  a  short  step — her  back  still 
turned,  her  hands  framing  her  bright  hair.  Presently 
she  looked  around  with  a  slight  laugh,  which  seemed 
to  say:  "Have  you  noticed  my  new  wings?  If  I  choose 
to  use  them,  I  become  unattainable.  Take  care,  my 
friend!" 

The  expression  of  her  face  checked  him;  her  eyes 
were  still  starry  from  tears.  The  dewy  loveliness  of 
them,  the  soft  shyness  born  of  knowledge,  the  new 
charm  of  her  left  him  silent  and  surprised.  He  had 
supposed  that  she  was  rather  low  in  her  mind.  Also  he 
became  aware  that  something  about  her  familiar  to  him 
had  gone,  that  he  was  confronted  by  something  in  her 
hitherto  unsuspected  and  undetected — something  sub 
tly  experienced  and  unexpectedly  mature.  But  that 
a  new  intelligence,  made  radiant  by  the  consciousness 
of  power,  had  suddenly  developed  and  enveloped  this 
young  girl,  and  was  now  confronting  him  he  did  not 
comprehend  at  first. 

And  yet,  in  her  attitude,  in  the  poise  of  the  small 
head,  in  the  slight  laugh  parting  her  lips,  in  every  line 
of  her  supple  figure,  every  contour,  every  movement, 
he  was  aware  of  a  surety,  a  self-confidence,  a  sort  of 
serene  authority  utterly  unfamiliar  to  him  in  her  per 
sonality. 

Gone  was  the  wistfulness,  the  simplicity,  the  inde 
cision  of  immaturity,  the  almost  primitive  candour 
that  knows  no  art.  Here  was  complexity  looking  out 

219 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


of  eyes  he  scarcely  knew,  baffling  him  with  a  beauty 
indescribable. 

"Karen  —  dear?"  he  said  unsteadily,  "have  you  noth 
ing  to  say  to  me?" 

There  was  laughter  and  curiosity  in  her  eyes,  and  a 
hint  of  mockery. 

"Yes,"  she  said,  "I  have  a  great  deal  to  say  to  you. 
In  the  first  place  we  must  not  be  silly  any  more  -  " 


She  seemed  surprised  at  his  emphatic  interruption. 

"Yes,  silly,"  she  repeated  serenely;  "foolish,  incon 
sequential.  I  admit  I  made  a  goose  of  myself,  but  that 
is  no  excuse  for  you  to  do  it,  too.  You  are  older  and 
more  experienced  and  so  much  wiser  -  " 

"Karen  !" 

"Yes?"  she  said  innocently. 

"What  has  happened  to  you?"  he  asked,  disturbed 
and  bewildered. 

She  opened  her  eyes  at  that: 

"Nothing  has  happened,  has  it?  Is  my  gown  torn?" 
•  —  bending  over  to  survey  her  skirt  and  waist  —  "Oh,  I 
forgot  that  the  famous  robbery  occurred  without 
violence  -  " 

He  reddened  :  "I  don't  understand  you,  Karen.  Why 
do  you  fence  this  way  with  me?  Why  do  you  speak  this 
way  to  me?  What  has  suddenly  changed  you  —  totally 
altered  you  —  altered  your  attitude  toward  me,  your 
point  of  view,  your  disposition  —  your  very  character 
apparently  -  " 

"My    character?"    she    repeated   with    a    gay    little 

220 


HER   FIRST   CAMPAIGN 

laugh  which  seemed  to  him  irresponsible,  and  confused 
him  exceedingly. 

"No,"  he  said,  troubled,  "that  couldn't  change  so 
suddenly.  But  I  never  before  saw  this  side  of  your 
character.  I  didn't  know  it  existed — never  supposed — 
dreamed " 

"Speaking  of  dreams,"  she  interrupted  with  calm 
irrelevance,  "I  never  told  you  that  I  finally  did  cross 
that  frontier.  Shall  I  tell  you  about  it  while  we  are 
walking  back?" 

"If  you  choose,"  he  said,  almost  sullenly. 

"Don't  you  care  to  hear  about  my  dream?  As  I 
made  a  pillow  of  you  during  the  process,  I  really  think 
you  are  entitled  to  hear  about  it — "  She  broke  off 
with  a  quick,  involuntary  laugh:  "Why  do  you  look 
hurt,  Kervyn?" 

At  that  he  became  serious  to  the  verge  of  gloom. 

"Come,"  she  said  sweetly,  slipping  her  hand  through 
his  arm,  "I  want  to  tell  you  how  I  crossed  that  won 
derful  frontier " 

"I  told  you,"  he  said  gravely,  "that  I  love  you.  Am 
I  not  entitled  to  an  answer?" 

"Entitled,  Kervyn?  I  don't  know  to  how  many 
things  you  are  en-titled.  All  I  know  is  that  you  are 
titled — several  times — aren't  you?" 

He  reddened  and  bit  his  lip. 

"Because,"  she  went  on  gaily,  "you  served  your  time 
in  the  Guides.  That  is  a  very  natural  deduction,  isn't  it?" 

He  said  nothing;  he  was  very  seriously  upset.  His 
stern  mouth  and  darkened  face  betrayed  it.  And  deep 

221 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


in  Karen's  heart  the  little  imps  of  laughter  danced  to  its 
mischievous  beating. 

After  they  had  walked  through  the  forest  for  a  while 
in  silence,  she  halted  and  withdrew  her  arm. 

"You  know,"  she  said,  "we  are  not  nearly  well  enough 
acquainted  for  you  to  be  moody  and  unamiable." 

"I  did  not  mean  to  be  either,"  he  said.  "What  is  it 
that  has  come  between  us,  Karen?" 

"Why,  nothing  I  hope,"  she  said  fervently. 

"I  hope  so,  too.  .  .  .  You  have  been  different 
since — "  He  hesitated,  and  she  turned  her  head  care 
lessly  and  looked  back  at  the  little  brook  they  had 
crossed.  When  her  blush  had  cooled  she  resumed  her 
leisurely  walk  and  glanced  up  at  him  inquiringly: 

"Since  when  have  you  thought  me  different?" 

"Since  we — kissed " 

"Please,  Kervyn !  Not  we.  I  think  it  was  you  who 
performed  that  very  childish  rite." 

"Is  that  the  way  you  regarded  it?" 

"Didn't  you?" 

"No." 

"You  didn't  take  it  seriously !"  she  exclaimed  with  an 
enchanting  laugh.  "Did  you  really?  I'm  so  dreadfully 
sorry!" 

The  dark  flush  on  his  face  frightened  her.  It  was 
her  first  campaign  and  she  was  easily  alarmed.  But 
she  was  wise  enough  to  say  nothing. 

"Yes,"  he  said  with  an  effort,  "I  did  take  it  very 
seriously.  And  I  took  you  seriously,  too.  I  don't  un 
derstand  your  new  attitude  toward  me — toward  life 

222 


HER   FIRST   CAMPAIGN 

itself.  Until  today  I  had  never  seen  any  lightness  in 
you,  any  mockery " 

"Lightness  ?  You  saw  plenty  in  me.  I  was  not  very 
difficult,  was  I  ? — on  the  train  ?  Not  very  reticent  about 
my  views  concerning  friendship  and  my  fears  concern- 
.  ing — love.  Why  should  you  be  surprised  at  the  frivol 
ity  of  such  a  girl?  It  has  taken  so  many  years  for  me 
to  learn  to  laugh.  Nineteen,  I  think.  Won't  you  let 
me  laugh  a  little,  now  that  I  know  how?" 

"Have  I  any  influence  at  all  with  you?"  he  asked. 
"I  thought  I  had." 

"I  thought  so,  too,"  she  mused,  innocently. 

"What  has  happened  to  destroy  it?" 

"Why,  nothing,  Kervyn !"  opening  her  eyes. 

"Does  any  of  my  influence  with  you  remain?" 

"Loads  of  it.    Oceans !    Bushels !" 

"Do  you  care  for  me?" 

"Of  course!     The  silly  question." 

"Seriously?" 

"Yes,  but  I  don't  wish  to  weep  because  I  care  for 
you." 

"Could  you  learn  to  love  me?" 

"Learn?  I  don't  know,"  she  mused  aloud,  appar 
ently  much  interested  in  the  novelty  of  the  suggestion. 
"I  learn  some  things  easily ;  mathematics  I  never  could 
learn.  Why  are  you  scowling,  Kervyn?" 

"Could  you  ever  love  me?"  he  persisted,  doggedly. 

"I  don't  know.  Do  you  desire  to  pay  your  court 
to  me?" 

"I— yes " 

223 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"You  appear  to  be  uncertain.  It  seems  to  me  that  a 
man  ought  to  know  whether  or  not  he  desires  to  pay 
his  addresses  to  a  girl." 

"Can't  you  be  serious,  Karen !" 

"Indeed  I  can.  You  ought  to  know  it,  too.  I  was 
serious  enough  over  you,  once.  I  followed  you  about 
so  faithfully  and  persistently  that  even  when  you  took 
a  nap  I  did  it  too " 

"Karen,  do  you  love  me?" 

"I  don't  know." 

"Will  you  try?" 

"I'm  always  willing  to  try  anything — once." 

"Then  suppose  you  try  marrying  me,  once !"  he  said, 
bluntly. 

"But  oughtn't  a  girl  to  be  in  love  before  she  tries 
that?  Besides,  before  I  am  quite  free  to  converse  with 
you  on  that  subject  I  must  converse  with  someone  else.' 

"What !" 

"Had  you  forgotten?" 

"Do  you  mean  the " 

"Yes,"  she  said  hastily — "you  do  remember.  That 
is  a  prior  engagement." 

"Engagement !" 

"An  engagement  to  converse  on  the  subject  of  en 
gagements.  I  told  you  about  it — in  the  days  of  my 
communicative  innocence." 

He  was  patient  because  he  had  to  be. 

"After  you  have  made  your  answer  clear  to  him,  may 
I  ask  you  again?" 

"Ask  me  what?" 

224 


HER    FIRST   CAMPAIGN 


"To  marry  me." 

"Wouldn't  that  permission  depend  upon  what  answer 
I  may  give  him?" 

"Good  Heavens!"  he  exclaimed,  "is  there  any  doubt 
about  your  answer  to  him?" 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows :  "You  are  entirely  too  confi 
dent.  Must  I  first  ask  your  permission  to  fulfill  my  obli 
gations  and  then  accomplish  them  in  a  manner  that  suits 
your  views?  It  sounds  a  little  like  dictation,  Kervyn." 

He  walked  beside  her,  cogitating  in  gloom  and 
silence.  Was  this  the  girl  he  had  known?  Was  this 
the  same  ungrateful  and  capricious  creature  upon 
whom  he  had  bestowed  his  protection,  his  personal  in 
terest,  his  anxious  thoughts? 

That  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  her  had  surprised 
him,  but  it  did  not  apparently  surprise  her.  Had  she 
instinctively  foreseen  what  was  going  to  happen  to  him? 
Had  she  deliberately  watched  the  process  with  wise  and 
feminine  curiosity,  coolly  keeping  her  own  skirts  clear? 

And  the  more  he  cogitated,  the  deeper  and  more  com 
plex  appeared  to  him  her  intuitive  and  merciless  knowl 
edge  of  man. 

Never  had  he  beheld  such  lightning  change  in  a 
woman.  It  couldn't  be  a  change ;  all  this  calm  self- 
possession,  all  the  cool  badinage,  all  this  gaiety,  this 
laughing  malice,  this  serene  capacity  for  appraising 
man  and  his  motives  must  have  existed  in  her — hidden, 
not  latent ;  concealed,  not  embryotic ! 

He  was  illogical  and  perfectly  masculine. 

She  was  only  a  young  girl,  awakened,  and  making 
her  first  campaign. 

225 


CHAPTER    XVIII 

LESSE    FOIIEST 

AS  they  came  out  of  the  forest  and  crossed  the 
grassy  circle  where  the  fountain  was  splashing 
they  saw  an  automobile  standing  in  the  drive 
by  the  front  door. 

"What  does  that  mean?"  exclaimed  Guild,  under  his 
breath. 

Both  had  halted,  checked  by  the  same  impulse. 

"Is  it  likely  to  be  Baron  von  Reiter?"  he  asked, 
coldly. 

She  said,  with  admirable  composure:  "Whoever  it  is, 
we  shall  have  to  go.  in." 

"Yes,  of  course.  .  .  .  But  if  it  happens  to  be  the 
Baron " 

"Well?"  she  asked,  looking  away  from  him. 

"In  that  event,  have  you  nothing  to  say  to  me — 
now?" 

"Not  now." 

"Haven't  you,  Karen?" 

She  shook  her  head,  gazing  steadily  away  from  him. 

"All  right,"  he  said,  controlling  his  voice;  "then  I 
can  make  my  adieux  to  you  indoors  as  well  as  here." 

226 


LESSE   FOREST 


"Are  you  leaving  immediately?" 

"Yes.     I  should  have  left  this  morning." 

After  a  moment's  silence:  "Shall  I  hear  from  you?" 

"Have  I  your  permission  to  write — if  I  can  do 
so?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  I  shall  write  you  first.  Are  you 
to  be  at  Lesse  Forest  for  a  few  days?" 

"Yes.  A  note  will  reach  me  in  care  of  Mrs.  Cour- 
land." 

Her  pretty  head  was  still  averted.  "We  ought  to 
go  in  now,"  she  said. 

Guild  glanced  sharply  at  the  car  as  they  passed  it, 
and  the  chauffeur  touched  his  cap  to  them.  It  was  a 
big,  dark  blue,  three-seated  touring  car,  and  there 
seemed  to  be  nothing  at  all  military  in  its  appointments 
or  in  the  chauffeur's  livery. 

He  opened  the  front  door  for  Karen,  and  they  walked 
into  the  hall  together. 

A  man  rose  quickly  from  a  leather  chair,  as  though 
he  were  a  little  lame.  "Hello,  Kervyn !"  he  said  gaily, 
advancing  with  hand  extended.  "How  are  you,  old 
top !" 

"Harry !"  exclaimed  Guild ;  "I'm  terribly  glad  to  see 
you!" 

They  stood  for  a  moment  smiling  at  each  other,  hand 
clasped  in  hand.  Then  Darrel  said: 

"When  your  note  came  this  morning,  we  decided  to 
motor  over,  Miss  Courland  and  I — "  He  turned 
toward  a  brown-eyed,  blond  young  girl:  "Valentine, 
this  is  the  celebrated  vanishing  man  I've  been  worrying 

227 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


over  so  long.  You  may  not  think  he  is  worth  worry 
ing  over,  now  that  you  see  him,  and  maybe  he  isn't ;  but 
somehow  or  other  I  like  him." 

Miss  Courland  laughed.  "I  think  I  shall  like  him, 
too,"  she  said,  "now  that  I  know  he  isn't  merely  a  fig 
ment  of  your  imagination — "  She  turned  her  brown 
eyes,  pleasantly  and  a  trifle  curiously,  toward  Karen, 
who  had  paused  beside  the  long  table — a  lithe  and 
graceful  figure  in  silhouette  against  the  brilliancy  of 
the  sun-lit  doorway. 

"Karen,"  said  Guild,  "this  is  Miss  Courland  who 
extends  her  own  and  Mrs.  Courland's  charity  to  me — " 
He  checked  himself,  smiling.  "Do  you  still  extend  it, 
Miss  Courland?" 

Valentine  had  come  forward  and  had  offered  her  hand 
to  Karen,  and  retaining  it  for  a  second,  she  turned  to 
answer  Guild: 

"Of  course!  We  came  to  take  you  back  with  us." 
And,  to  Karen:  "It  isn't  a  very  gracious  thing  for  us 
to  do — to  steal  a  guest  from  Quellenheim — and  I  am 
afraid  you  do  not  feel  very  grateful  toward  me  for 
doing  it." 

Their  hands  parted  and  their  eyes  rested  on  each 
other  for  a  second's  swift  feminine  appraisal. 

"Baron  von  Reiter  has  not  yet  arrived,"  said  Karen, 
"so  I  do  not  think  Mr.  Guild  has  had  a  very  interesting 
visit.  I  feel  as  though  I  ought  to  thank  you  for  ask 
ing  him  to  Lesse." 

Guild,  who  was  talking  to  Barrel,  heard  her,  and 
gave  her  a  rather  grim  look. 

228 


LESSE   FOREST 


Then  he  presented  Darrel;  and  the  light,  gossipy 
conversation  became  general. 

With  one  ear  on  duty  and  one  listening  to  Darrel, 
Guild  heard  Karen  giving  to  Valentine  a  carelessly 
humorous  outline  of  her  journey  from  England — 
caught  the  little  exclamations  of  interest  and  sympathy 
from  the  pretty  brown-eyed  American  girl,  and  still 
was  able  to  sketch  for  Darrel  the  same  theme  from  his 
own  more  sober  point  of  view. 

Neither  he  nor  Karen,  of  course,  spoke  of  the  reason 
for  Guild's  going  to  England,  nor  that  the  journey 
had  been  undertaken  on  compulsion,  nor,  indeed,  did 
they  hint  at  anything  concerning  the  more  sinister  and 
personal  side  of  the  affair.  It  merely  appeared  that  a 
German  general,  presumably  a  friend  of  Guild,  not 
being  able  to  get  his  daughter  out  of  England  after 
hostilities  had  commenced,  had  confided  the  task  to  a 
man  he  trusted  and  who  was  able  to  go  unquestioned 
into  a  country  at  war  with  his  own.  But  it  all  seemed 
quite  romantic  enough,  even  under  such  circumstances, 
to  thrill  Valentine  Courland. 

"Do  come  back  to  Lesse  with  us,  won't  you?"  she 
asked  Karen.  "My  mother  and  I  would  love  to  have 
you.  You'd  be  bored  to  distraction  here  with  only  the 
housekeeper.  Do  come!" 

"I  haven't  any  clothes,"  said  Karen  frankly. 

"I  have  loads  of  them!  We'd  be  so  glad  to  have 
you  at  Lesse.  Won't  you  come  back  with  us  ?" 

Karen  laughed,  enchanted.  She  could  see  Guild  with 
out  looking  at  him.  His  attitude  was  eloquent. 

229 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


"If  you  really  do  want  me,  I'll  come,"  she  said.  "But 
you  and  Mr.  Barrel  will  remain  to  luncheon,  won't  you  ? 
I'll  speak  to  the  Frau  Forster — if  I  may  be  excused — " 
She  fell  for  a  moment  again,  unconsciously,  into  her 
quaint  schoolgirl  manner,  and  dropped  them  a  little 
curtsey. 

Guild  opened  the  pantry  door  for  her  and  held  it. 

"May  I  explain  to  them  a  little  more  clearly  who  you 
are,  Karen  ?"  he  asked  in  a  low  voice. 

"Yes,  please." 

He  came  back  into  the  hall  where  Miss  Courland  and 
Darrel  were  talking.  Valentine  turned  swiftly. 

"Isn't  she  the  sweetest  thing!"  exclaimed  the  girl 
warmly. 

"She  is  really  very  wonderful,"  said  Guild;  "let  me 
tell  you  a  little  about  her  accomplishments  and  herself." 

They  were  still  listening  to  Guild,  with  an  interest 
which  absorbed  them,  when  Karen  returned. 

"The  few  clothes  I  have,"  she  said,  "are  being  re 
packed  by  Frau  Bergner.  Kervyn,  shall  she  repack 
your  sack?" 

"No,  I'll  do  that,"  he  said,  turning  away  with  the 
happiest  face  he  had  worn  that  morning.  And  the  girl 
knew  that  it  was  because  they  were  going  away  together 
again — taking  life's  highway  once  more  in  each  other's 
company.  Involuntarily  she  looked  after  him,  con 
scious  for  a  second,  again,  of  new  and  powerful  motives, 
new  currents,  new  emotions  invading  her;  and  she  won 
dered  how  vitally  they  concerned  this  man  who  had  so 
suddenly  destroyed  a  familiar  world  for  her  and  as  sud- 

230 


LESSE   FOREST 


denly  was  offering  her  as  substitute  a  new  and  strange 
one. 

Emerging  from  her  brief  abstraction  she  looked 
across  the  hall  at  Valentine  Courland,  who,  seated  on 
the  oak  table,  chatted  animatedly  with  Darrel.  The 
girl  was  exceedingly  attractive ;  Karen  realized  that  at 
once.  Also  this  pretty  American  had  said  very  frankly 
that  she  was  certain  to  like  Guild.  Karen  had  heard 
her  say  it. 

"Miss  Girard,"  said  Darrel,  "is  the  shooting  good 
at  Quellenheim?  I  imagine  it  must  be,  judging  from 
these  trophies."  He  waved  a  comprehensive  hand  to 
ward  the  walls  of  the  room. 

Karen  came  slowly  over  to  Valentine :  "I  really  don't 
know  much  about  shooting.  There  are  boar  and  deer 
here.  I  suppose  at  Lesse  Forest  you  have  really  ex 
cellent  sport,  don't  you?" 

"Our  guests  seem  to  find  the  shooting  good,"  replied 
Valentine.  "My  mother  and  I  go  out  with  them  some 
times.  I  don't  know  whether  we  shall  be  able  to  offer 
anybody  any  shooting  this  autumn.  We  are  exceed 
ingly  worried  about  Lesse  Forest.  You  see,  every  au 
tumn  we  renew  the  lease,  but  our  lease  expired  last 
week,  and  we  can't  renew  it  because  nobody  seems  to 
know  where  our  landlord  is  or  where  to  find  him." 

"Is  your  landlord  Belgian?" 

"Yes.  He  is  a  wealthy  brewer  at  Wiltz-la-Vallee. 
And  the  Germans  bombarded  and  burnt  it — everything 
is  in  ruins  and  the  people  fled  or  dead.  So  we  are  really 
very  much  concerned  about  the  possible  fate  of  our 

231 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


landlord,  Monsieur  Paillard,  and  we  don't  exactly  know 
what  to  do." 

Guild  returned,  coming  downstairs  two  at  a  time,  his 
attractive  features  very  youthful  and  animated.  And 
Karen,  discreetly  observing  him  and  his  buoyant  de 
meanour,  felt  a  swift  and  delightful  confusion  in  the 
knowledge  of  her  power  to  make  or  unmake  the  happi 
ness  of  a  grown  man. 

Frau  Bergner  appeared  with  cloth  and  covers,  beam 
ing,  curtseying  to  all;  and  very  soon  they  were  at 
luncheon — a  simple  but  perfectly  cooked  luncheon, 
where  everything  was  delectable  and  there  did  not  seem 
to  be  very  much  of  any  particular  variety,  yet  there 
was  just  a  trifle  more  than  enough  for  everybody. 
Which  is  the  real  triumph  of  a  good  German,  French, 
or  Belgian  housekeeper's  calculations. 

And  when  luncheon  was  ended  the  luggage  already 
had  been  placed  in  the  car ;  the  chauffeur  emerged  from 
the  kitchen  where  Frau  Bergner  had  been  generous  to 
him;  and  in  a  few  moments  the  big  blue  machine  was 
whirring  smoothly  on  its  way  to  Lesse,  through  the 
beautiful  Ardennes  forests  over  smooth,  well-cared-for 
roads,  the  sun  shining  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  four 
young  people  making  rapid  headway  in  a  new  ac 
quaintanceship  which  seemed  to  promise  everything 
agreeable  and  gay. 

At  the  huge,  moss-grown  gate-posts  of  Lesse  a  for 
ester  lifted  his  grey  felt  hat  and  opened  the  gates ;  and 
around  the  first  curve  appeared  the  celebrated  and 
beautiful  old  lodge  of  weather-stained  stone  and  slate, 

232 


LESSE   FOREST 


the  narrow  terrace  blazing  with  geraniums  and  scarlet 
sage. 

Guild  noticed  a  slender,  red-haired  girl  seated  on  the 
steps,  knitting,  with  a  heap  of  dark-blue  wool  in  her 
lap ;  but  when  the  car  drew  up,  Valentine  Courland  ad 
dressed  her  as  "mother" — to  the  intense  surprise  of 
Karen  as  well  as  of  himself,  for  Mrs.  Courland  seemed 
scarce  older  than  her  own  daughter,  and  quite  as 
youthfully  attractive. 

She  welcomed  Karen  with  a  sweet  directness  of  man 
ner  which  won  the  girl  instantly ;  and  her  manner  to 
Guild  was  no  less  charming — an  older  woman's  delight 
ful  recognition  of  a  young  man's  admiration,  and  a 
smiling  concession  to  this  young  man's  youth  and  good 
looks. 

When  Valentine  mentioned  Karen's  plight  in  the  mat 
ter  of  wardrobe,  her  mother  laughed  gaily  and,  slip 
ping  one  arm  around  Karen's  waist,  took  her  off  into 
the  house. 

"We  shall  remedy  that  immediately,"  she  said. 
"Come  and  see  what  suits  you  best." 

"As  for  you,"  said  Barrel  to  Guild,  "your  luggage 
is  in  your  room.  I  suppose  you  are  glad  of  that." 

"Rather,"  said  Guild  with  such  intense  feeling  that 
Valentine  Courland  laughed  outright. 

"Take  him  to  his  beloved  luggage,"  she  said  to  Dar- 
rel;  "I  had  no  idea  he  was  so  vain.  You  know  the 
room,  don't  you?  It  is  next  to  your  own." 

"Harry,  why  are  you  limping?"  asked  Valentine  as 
Darrel  rose  to  go. 

233 


WHO    GOES    THERE! 


"I'm  not." 

"You  are.     Why?" 

"Rum.  I  drink  too  much  of  it,"  he  explained  se 
riously. 

So  the  young  men  went  away  together ;  and  presently 
Guild  was  flinging  from  him  the  same  worn  clothing 
which,  at  one  terrible  moment,  seemed  destined  to  be 
come  his  shroud:  and  Barrel  sat  on  the  bed  and  gave 
him  an  outline  of  the  life  at  Lesse  Forest  and  of  the 
two  American  women  who  lived  there. 

"Courland  loved  the  place,"  said  Barrel,  "and  for 
many  years  until  his  death  he  spent  the  summers  here 
with  his  wife  and  daughter. 

"That's  why  they  continue  to  come.  The  place  is  part 
of  their  life.  But  I  don't  know  what  they'll  do  now. 
Monsieur  Paillard,  their  landlord,  hasn't  been  heard  of 
since  the  Germans  bombarded  and  burnt  Wiltz-la- 
Vallee.  Whether  poor  Paillard  got  knocked  on  the 
head  by  a  rifle-butt  or  a  41-centimetre  shell,  or  whether 
he  was  lined  up  against  some  garden  wall  with  the  other 
poor  devils  when  the  Prussian  firing-squads  sickened 
and  they  had  to  turn  the  machine-guns  on  the  prison 
ers,  nobody  seems  to  know. 

"Wiltz-la-Vallee  is  nothing  but  an  ill-smelling  heap  of 
rubbish.  The  whole  country  is  in  a  horrible  condition. 
You  know  a  rotting  cabbage  or  beet  or  turnip  field 
emits  a  bad  enough  smell.  Add  to  that  the  stench  from 
an  entire  dead  and  decomposing  community  of  three 
thousand  people !  Oh  yes,  they  dug  offal  trenches,  but 
they  weren't  deep  enough.  And  besides  there  was 

234 


LESSE   FOREST 


enough  else  lying  dead  under  the  blackened  bricks  and 
rafters  to  poison  the  atmosphere  of  a  whole  country. 
It's  a  ghastly  thing  what  they've  done  to  Belgium!" 

Guild  went  to  his  modern  bathroom  to  bathe,  but 
left  the  door  open. 

"Go  on,  Harry,"  he  said. 

"Well,  that's  about  all,"  continued  Barrel.  "The 
Germans  left  death  and  filth  behind  them.  Not  only 
what  the  hands  of  man  erected  is  in  ruins,  but  the  very 
face  of  the  earth  itself  is  mangled  out  of  all  recogni 
tion.  They  tore  Nature  herself  to  pieces,  stamped  her 
features  out,  obliterated  her  very  body!  You  ought 
to  see  some  of  the  country !  I  don't  mean  where  towns 
or  solitary  farms  were.  I  mean  the  land,  the  landscape! 
— all  full  of  slimy  pits  from  their  shells,  cut  in  every 
direction  by  their  noisome  trenches,  miles  and  miles  of 
roadside  trees  shot  to  splinters,  woodlands  burnt  to 
ashes,  forests  torn  to  slivers — one  vast,  distorted  and 
abominable  desolation." 

Guild  had  reappeared,  and  was  dressing. 

"They  didn't  ransack  the  Grand  Duchy,"  continued 
Darrel,  "although  I  heard  that  the  Grand  Duchess 
blocked  their  road  with  her  own  automobile  and  faced 
the  invaders  until  they  pushed  her  aside  with  scant  cere 
mony.  If  she  did  that  she's  as  plucky  as  she  is  pretty. 
That's  the  story,  anyway." 

"Have  the  Germans  bothered  you  here  ?"  asked  Guild, 
buttoning  a  fresh  collar. 

"Not  any  to  speak  of.  Of  course  they  don't  care 
anything  about  the  frontier ;  they'd  violate  it  in  a  min- 

235 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ute.  And  I've  been  rather  worried  because  a  lot  of 
these  Luxembourg  peasants,  particularly  the  woodsmen 
and  forest  dwellers,  are  Belgians,  or  are  in  full  sym 
pathy  with  them.  And  I'm  afraid  they'll  do  something 
that  will  bring  the  Germans  to  Lesse  Forest." 

"You  mean  some  sort  of  franc-tireur  business?" 

"Yes,  I  mean  just  that." 

"The  Germans  shoot  franc-tireurs  without  court- 
martial." 

"I  know  it.  And  there  has  been  sniping  across  the 
border,  everywhere,  even  since  the  destruction  of  Wiltz- 
la-Vallee.  I  expect  there'll  be  mischief  here  sooner  or 
later." 

Guild,  tall,  broad-shouldered,  erect,  stood  by  the  win 
dow  looking  out  between  the  gently  blowing  sash-cur 
tains,  and  fastening  his  waistcoat. 

And,  standing  so,  he  said:  "Harry,  this  is  no  place 
for  Mrs.  Courland  and  her  daughter.  They  ought  to 
go  to  Luxembourg  City,  or  across  the  line  into  Holland. 
As  a  matter  of  fact  they  really  ought  to  go  back  to 
America." 

"I  think  so  too,"  nodded  Darrell.  "I  think  we  may 
persuade  them  to  come  back  with  us." 

Without  looking  at  his  business  partner  and  friend, 
Guild  said :  "I  am  not  going  back  with  you." 

"What!" 

"I  can't.  But  you  must  go — rather  soon,  too.  And 
you  must  try  to  persuade  the  Courlands  to  go  with 
you." 

"What  are  you  planning  to  do?"  demanded  Barrel 

236 


LESSE   FOREST 


with  the  irritable  impatience  of  a  man  who  already  has 
answered  his  own  question. 

"You  can  guess,  I  suppose?" 

"Yes,  dammit! — I  can!  I've  been  afraid  you'd  do 
some  such  fool  thing.  And  I  ask  you,  Kervyn,  as  a 
sane,  sensible  Yankee  business  man,  is  it  necessary  for 
you  to  gallop  into  this  miserable  free  fight  and  wallow 
in  it  up  to  your  neck?  Is  it?  Is  it  necessary  to  pro 
pitiate  your  bally  ancestors  by  pulling  a  gun  on  the 
Kaiser  and  striking  an  attitude  ?" 

Guild  laughed.  "I'm  afraid  it's  a  matter  of  pro 
pitiating  my  own  conscience,  Harry.  I'm  afraid  I'll 
have  to  strike  an  attitude  and  pull  that  gun." 

"To  the  glory  of  the  Gold  Book  and  the  Counts  of 
Gueldres!  7  know!  You're  very  quiet  about  such 
things,  but  I  knew  it  was  inside  you  all  the  time.  Con 
found  it !  I  was  that  worried  by  your  letter  to  me !  I 
thought  you'd  already  done  something  and  had  been 
caught." 

"I  hadn't  been  doing  anything,  but  I  had  been 
caught." 

"I  knew  it!" 

"Naturally ;  or  I  shouldn't  have  written  you  a  one- 
act  melodrama  instead  of  a  letter.  .  .  .  Did  you  de 
stroy  the  letter  to  my  mother?" 

"Yes,  I  did." 

"That  was  right.  I'll  tell  you  about  it  some  time. 
And  now,  before  we  go  down,  this  is  for  your  own  in 
struction  :  I  am  going  to  try  to  get  into  touch  with  the 
Belgian  army.  How  to  do  it  I  don't  see  very  clearly, 

237 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


because  there  are  some  two  million  Germans  between 
me  and  it.  But  that's  what  I  shall  try  to  do,  Harry. 
So,  during  the  day  or  two  I  remain  here,  persuade 
your  friends,  the  Courlands,  of  the  very  real  danger 
they  run  in  remaining  at  Lesse.  Because  any  of  these 
peasants  at  any  moment  are  likely  to  sally  forth 
Uhlan  sniping.  And  you  know  what  German  reprisals 
mean." 

"Yes,"  said  Barrel  uneasily.  He  added  with  a  boy 
ish  blush:  "I'm  rather  frightfully  fond  of  Valentine 
Courland,  too." 

"Then  talk  to  the  Courlands.  Something  serious  evi 
dently  has  happened  to  their  landlord.  If  he  made 
himself  personally  obnoxious  to  the  soldiery  which 
destroyed  Wiltz-la-Vallee,  a  detachment  might  be  sent 
here  anyway  to  destroy  Lesse  Lodge.  You  can't  tell 
what  the  Teutonic  military  mind  is  hatching.  I  was 
playing  chess  when  they  were  arranging  a  shooting 
party  in  my  honour.  Come  on  downstairs." 

"Yes,  in  a  minute.  Kervyn,  I  don't  believe  you  quite 
got  me — about  Valentine  Courland." 

Guild  looked  around  at  him  curiously. 

"Is  it  the  real  thing,  Harry?" 

"Rather.     With  me,  I  mean." 

"You're  in  love?" 

"Rather!  But  Valentine  raises  the  deuce  with  me. 
She  won't  listen,  Kervyn.  She  sits  on  sentiment.  She 
guys  me.  I  don't  think  she  likes  anybody  else,  but  I'm 
dead  sure  she  doesn't  care  for  me — that  way." 

Guild  studied  the  pattern   on  the  rug  at  his   feet. 

238 


LESSE   FOREST 


After  a  while  he  said :  "When  a  man's  in  love  he  doesn't 
seem  to  know  it  until  it's  too  late." 

"Rot !  I  knew  it  right  away.  Last  winter  when  the 
Courlands  were  in  New  York  I  knew  I  was  falling  in 
love  with  her.  It  hurt,  too,  I  can  tell  you.  Why, 
Kervyn,  after  they  sailed  it  hurt  me  so  that  I  couldn't 
think  of  anything.  I  didn't  eat  properly.  A  man  like 
you  can't  realize  how  it  hurts  to  love  a  girl.  But  it's 
one  incessant,  omnipresent,  and  devilish  gnawing — a 
sensation  of  emptiness  indescribable  filled  with  loud  and 
irregular  heart-throbs — a  happy  agony,  a  precious 
pain " 

"Harry!" 

"What?"  asked  that  young  man,  startled. 

"Do  you  realize  you  are  almost  shouting?" 

"Was  I?  Well,  I'm  almost  totally  unbalanced  and 
I  don't  know  how  long  I  can  stand  the  treatment  I'm 
getting.  I've  told  her  mother,  and  she  laughs  at  me, 
too.  But  I  honestly  think  she  likes  me.  What  would 
you  do,  Kervyn,  if  you  cared  for  a  girl  and  you  couldn't 
induce  her  to  converse  on  the  subject?" 

Guild's  features  grew  flushed  and  sombre.  "I  haven't 
the  faintest  idea  what  a  man  should  do,"  he  said. 
"The  dignified  thing  would  be  for  a  man  to  drop  the 
matter." 

"I  know.  I've  dropped  it  a  hundred  times  a  week. 
But  she  seems  to  be  glad  of  it.  And  I  can't  endure  that. 
So  I  re-open  the  subject,  and  she  re-closes  it  and  sits  on 
the  lid.  I  tell  you,  Kervyn,  it's  amounting  to  a  living 
nightmare  with  me.  I  am  so  filled  with  tenderness  and 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


sentiment  that  I  can't  digest  it  unaided  by  the  milk  of 
human  kindness " 

"Do  you  talk  this  way  to  her?"  asked  Guild, 
laughing.  "If  you  compare  unrequited  love  to 
acute  indigestion  no  girl  on  earth  is  going  to  listen 
to  you." 

"I  have  to  use  some  flights  of  imagination,"  said 
Barrel,  sulkily.  "A  girl  likes  to  hear  anything  when 
it's  all  dolled  out  with  figures  of  speech.  What  the 
deuce  are  you  laughing  at  ?  All  right !  Wait  until  you 
fall  in  love  yourself.  But  you  won't  have  time  now; 
you'll  enlist  in  some  fool  regiment  and  get  your  bally 
head  knocked  off!  I  thought  I  had  troubles  enough 
with  Valentine,  and  now  this  business  begins !" 

He  got  up  slowly,  as  though  very  lame. 

"It's  very  terrible  to  me,"  he  said,  "to  know  that  you 
feel  bound  to  go  into  this  mix-up.  I  was  afraid  of  it' 
as  soon  as  I  heard  that  war  had  been  declared.  It's  been 
worrying  me  every  minute  since.  But  I  suppose  it's 
quite  useless  to  argue  with  you  ?" 

"Quite,"  said  Guild  pleasantly.  "What's  the  matter 
with  your  leg?" 

"Barked  the  shin.  Listen !  Is  there  any  use  reason 
ing  with  you?" 

"No,  Harry." 

"Well,  then,"  exclaimed  Barrel  in  an  irate  voice,  "I'll 
tell  you  frankly  that  you  and  your  noble  ancestors  give 
me  a  horrible  pain!  I'm  full  of  all  kinds  of  pain  and 
I'm  sick  of  it !" 

Guild  threw  back  his  blond  head  and  laughed  out- 


240 


LESSE   FOREST 


right — a  clear,  untroubled  laugh  that  rang  pleasantly 
through  the  ancient  hall  they  were  traversing. 

As  they  came  out  on  the  terrace  where  the  ladies 
sat  in  the  sun  knitting,  Valentine  looked  around  at 
Guild. 

"What  a  delightfully  infectious  laugh  you  have,"  she 
said.  "Was  it  a  very  funny  story?  I  can  scarcely  be 
lieve  Mr.  Barrel  told  it." 

"But  he  did,"  said  Guild,  seating  himself  beside  her 
on  the  edge  of  the  stone  terrace  and  glancing  curiously 
at  Karen,  who  wore  a  light  gown  and  was  looking  dis- 
tractingly  pretty. 

"Such  an  unpleasant  thing  has  occurred,"  said  Mrs. 
Courland  in  her  quiet,  gentle  voice,  turning  to  Darrel. 
"Our  herdsman  has  just  come  in  to  tell  Michaud  that 
early  this  morning  a  body  of  German  cavalry  rode  into 
the  hill  pastures  and  drove  off  the  entire  herd  of  cattle 
and  the  flock  of  sheep  belonging  to  Monsieur  Paillard." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  Darrel  glanced  at 
Guild,  saying:  "Was  there  any  explanation  offered  for 
the  requisition? — any  indemnity?" 

"Nothing,  apparently.  Schultz,  the  herdsman,  told 
Michaud  that  an  Uhlan  officer  asked  him  if  the  cattle 
and  sheep  did  not  belong  to  the  Paillard  estate  at  Lesse. 
That  was  all.  And  the  shepherd,  Jean  Pascal,  tried  to 
argue  with  the  troopers  about  his  sheep,  but  a  cavalry 
man  menaced  him  with  his  lance.  The  poor  fellow  is 
out  in  the  winter  fold,  weeping  like  Bo-Peep,  and 
Schultz  is  using  very  excited  language.  All  our  forest 
guards  and  wood-choppers  are  there.  Michaud  has 

241 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


gone  to  Trois  Fontaines.  They  all  seem  so  excited  that 
it  has  begun  to  disturb  me  a  little." 

"You  see,"  said  Valentine  to  Guild,  "our  hill  pastures 
are  almost  on  the  frontier.  We  have  been  afraid  they'd 
take  our  cattle." 

He  nodded. 

"Do  you  suppose  anything  can  be  done  about  it?" 
asked  Mrs.  Courland.  "I  feel  dreadfully  that  such  a 
thing  should  happen  at  Lesse  while  we  are  in  occupa 
tion." 

"May  I  talk  with  your  head  gamekeeper?"  asked 
Guild. 

"Yes,  indeed,  if  you  will.  He  ought  to  return  from 
Trois  Fontaines  before  dark." 

"I'll  talk  to  him,"  said  Guild  briefly.  Then  his 
serious  face  cleared  and  he  assumed  a  cheerfulness  of 
manner  totally  at  variance  with  his  own  secret  convic 
tions. 

"Troops  have  got  to  eat,"  he  said.  "They're  likely 
to  do  this  sort  of  thing.  But  the  policy  of  the  Germans, 
when  they  make  requisition  for  anything,  seems  to  be 
to  pay  for  it  with  vouchers  of  one  sort  or  another. 
They  are  not  robbers  when  unmolested,  but  they  are 
devils  when  interfered  with.  Most  troops  are." 

The  conversation  became  general ;  Barrel,  sitting  be 
tween  Karen  and  Mrs.  Courland,  became  exceedingly 
entertaining,  to  judge  from  Karen's  quick  laughter  and 
the  more  subdued  amusement  of  Katharyn  Courland. 

Darrel  was  explaining  his  lameness. 

But  the  trouble  with  Darrel  was  that  his  modesty  in- 

242 


LESSE   FOREST 


clined  him  to  be  humorous  at  his  own  expense.  Few 
women  care  for  unattractive  modesty;  few  endure  it, 
none  adores  it.  He  was  too  modest  to  be  attractive. 

"I  was  sauntering  along,"  he  said,  "minding  my  own 
business,  when  I  came  face  to  face  with  a  wild  boar.  He 
was  grey,  and  he  was  far  bigger  than  I  ever  again  de 
sire  to  see.  Before  I  could  recover  my  breath  his  eyes 
got  red  and  he  began  to  make  castanette  music  with  his 
tusks,  fox-trot  time.  And  do  you  know  what  happened 
— in  your  forest,  Mrs.  Courland?  I  went  up  a  tree,  and 
I  barked  my  shin  in  doing  it.  If  you  call  that  hos 
pitality,  my  notions  on  the  sub j  ect  are  all  wrong." 

"Didn't  you  have  a  gun  ?"  asked  Karen. 

"I  did.     I  admit  it  without  a  blush." 

"Why  didn't  you  use  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Courland. 

"Use  it?  How?  A  gun  doesn't  help  a  man  to  climb 
a  tree.  It  is  in  the  way.  I  shall  carry  no  more  guns 
in  your  forest.  A  light  extension  ladder  is  all  I  re 
quire.  And  a  book  to  pass  away  the  time  when  treed." 

They  all  laughed.  "Really,"  asked  Guild  curiously, 
"why  didn't  you  shoot?" 

"First  of  all,"  said  Barrel  serenely,  "I  do  not  know 
how  to  fire  off  a  gun.  Do  you  want  any  further  rea 
sons  ?" 

"You  looked  so  picturesque,"  said  Valentine  scorn 
fully,  "I  never  dreamed  you  were  such  a  dub !  And  you 
don't  seem  to  care,  either." 

"I  don't.  I  like  to  catch  little  fish.  But  my  ferocity 
ends  there.  Kervyn,  shall  we  try  the  trout  for  an  hour 
this  afternoon?" 

243 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


Valentine  turned  up  her  dainty  nose.  "I  shall  take 
Mr.  Guild  myself.  You'd  better  find  a  gamekeeper 
who'll  teach  you  how  to  shoot  off  a  gun."  And,  to 
Guild :  "I'll  take  you  now  if  you  like.  It's  only  a  little 
way  to  the  Silverwiltz.  Shall  I  get  a  rod  and  fly-book 
for  you?" 

Karen,  watching  her,  saw  the  frank  challenge  in  her 
pretty  brown  eyes,  saw  Guild's  swift  response  to  that 
gay  defiance.  It  was  only  the  light,  irresponsible  en 
counter  of  two  young  people  who  had  liked  each  other 
at  sight  and  who  had  already  established  a  frank  un 
derstanding. 

So  Valentine  went  into  the  house  and  returned  pres 
ently  switching  a  light  fly-rod  and  a  cast  of  flies ;  and 
Guild  walked  over  and  joined  her. 

To  Karen  he  looked  very  tall  and  sunburned,  and  un 
familiar  in  his  blue-serge  lounging  clothes — very  per 
fectly  groomed,  very  severe,  and  unapproachable ;  and 
so  much  older,  so  much  more  mature,  so  much  wiser 
than  she  had  thought  him. 

And,  as  her  eyes  followed  him  from  where  she  was 
seated  among  the  terrace  flowers,  she  realized  more  than 
ever  that  she  did  not  know  what  to  say  to  him,  what 
to  do  with  him,  or  how  to  answer  such  a  man. 

Her  face  grew  very  serious ;  she  was  becoming  more 
deeply  impressed  with  the  seriousness  of  what  he  had 
asked  of  her ;  of  her  own  responsibility.  And  yet,  as  far 
as  love  was  concerned,  she  could  find  no  answer  for  him. 
Friendship,  swift,  devoted,  almost  passionate,  she  had 
given  him — a  friendship  which  had  withstood  the  hard 

244 


LESSE   FOREST 


shocks  of  anger  and  distrust,  and  the  more  bewildering 
shock  of  his  kiss. 

She  still  cared  for  him,  relied  on  him ;  wished  for  his 
companionship.  But,  beyond  that,  what  had  happened, 
followed  by  his  sudden  demand,  had  startled  and  con 
fused  her,  and,  so  far,  she  did  not  know  whether  it  was 
in  her  to  respond.  Love  loomed  before  her,  mighty  and 
unknown,  and  the  solemnity  of  its  pledges  and  of  its 
overwhelming  obligations  had  assumed  proportions 
which  awed  her  nineteen  years. 

In  her  heart  always  had  towered  a  very  lofty  monu 
ment  to  the  sacredness  of  love,  fearsomely  chaste,  flame- 
less,  majestic.  So  pure,  so  immaculate  was  this  solemn 
and  supreme  edifice  she  had  already  builded  that  the 
moment's  thrill  in  his  arms  had  seemed  to  violate  it.  For 
the  girl  had  always  believed  a  kiss  to  be  in  itself  part 
of  that  vague,  indefinite  miracle  of  supreme  surrender. 
And  the  knowledge  and  guilt  of  it  still  flushed  her 
cheeks  at  intervals  and  meddled  with  her  heart. 

She  had  forgiven,  had  tried  to  readjust  herself  be 
fore  her  mystic  altar.  There  was  nothing  else  to  do. 
And  the  awakened  woman  in  her  aided  her  and  taught 
her,  inspiring,  exciting  her  with  a  knowledge  new  to  her, 
the  knowledge  of  her  power. 

Then,  as  she  sat  there  looking  at  this  man  and  at 
the  brown-eyed  girl  beside  him,  suddenly  she  experi 
enced  a  subtle  sense  of  fear :  fear  of  what  ?  She  did  not 
know,  did  not  ask  herself.  Not  even  the  apprehen 
sion,  the  dread  of  parting  with  him  had  made  her 
afraid ;  not  even  the  certainty  that  he  was  going  to  j  oin 

245 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


his  regiment  had  aroused  in  her  more  than  a  sense  of 
impending  loneliness. 

But  something  was  waking  it  now — something  that 
pierced  her  through  and  through:  and  she  caught  her 
breath  sharply,  like  a  child  who  has  been  startled. 

For  the  first  time  in  her  life  the  sense  of  possession 
had  been  aroused  in  her,  and  with  it  the  subtle  instinct 
to  defend  what  was  her  own. 

She  looked  very  intensely  at  the  brown  eyes  of  the 
young  girl  who  stood  laughing  and  gossiping  there 
with  the  man  she  did  not  know  how  to  answer — the  man 
with  whom  she  did  not  know  what  to  do.  But  every  in 
stinct  in  her  was  alert  to  place  upon  this  man  the  un 
mistakable  sign  of  ownership.  He  was  hers,  no  matter 
what  she  might  do  with  him. 

To  Darrel,  trying  to  converse  with  her,  she  replied 
smilingly,  mechanically;  but  her  small  ears  were  ring 
ing  with  the  gay  laughter  of  Valentine  and  the  quick, 
smiling  responses  of  Guild  as  they  stood  with  their 
heads  together  over  the  contents  of  the  fly-book,  con 
sulting,  advising,  and  selecting  the  most  likely  and  mur 
derous  lures. 

Neither  of  them  glanced  in  her  direction ;  apparently 
they  were  most  happily  absorbed  in  this  brand  new 
.friendship  of  theirs. 

Very  slowly  and  thoughtfully  Karen's  small  head 
sank;  and  she  sat  gazing  at  the  brilliant  masses  of 
salvia  bloom  clustering  at  her  feet,  silent,  overwhelmed 
under  the  tremendous  knowledge  of  what  had  come 
upon  her  here  in  the  sunshine  of  a  cloudless  sky. 

246 


LESSE   FOREST 


"Au  revoir!"  called  back  Valentine  airily; 
return  before  dusk  with  a  dozen  very  large  trout !" 

Guild  turned  to  make  his  adieux,  hat  in  hand ;  caught 
Karen's  eye,  nodded  pleasantly,  and  walked  away  across 
the  lawn,  with  Valentine  close  beside  him,  still  discuss 
ing  and  fussing  over  the  cast  they  had  chosen  for  the 
trout's  undoing. 


CHAPTER    XIX 

THE    LIAR 

THE  lamps  had  not  yet  been  lighted  in  the  big, 
comfortable  living-room  and  late  sunlight 
striped  wall  and  ceiling  with  rose  where  Karen 
sat  sewing,  and  Barrel,  curled  up  in  a  vast  armchair, 
frowned  over  a  book.  And  well  he  might,  for  it  was 
a  treatise  on  German  art. 

His  patience  arriving  at  the  vanishing  point  he 
started  to  hurl  the  book  from  him,  then  remembering 
that  it  was  not  his  to  hurl,  slapped  it  shut. 

Which  caused  Karen  to  lift  her  deep  violet  eyes  in 
quiringly. 

"Teutonic  Kultur!  I've  got  its  number,"  he  said. 
Which  observation  conveyed  no  meaning  to  Karen. 

"German  art,"  he  explained.  "It  used  to  be  merely 
ample,  adipose,  and  indigestible.  Now  the  moderns 
have  made  it  sinister  and  unclean.  The  ham-fist  has  be 
come  the  mailed  fist;  the  fat  and  trickling  source  of 
Teutonic  inspiration  has  become  polluted.  There  is  no 
decadence  more  hideous  than  the  brain  cancer  of  a  Her 
cules." 

Karen   followed  him  with  intelligent   interest.      She 

248 


THE   LIAR 


said  with  hesitation:  "The  moderns,  I  think,  are  wan 
dering  outside  immutable  boundaries.  Frontiers  are 
eternal.  If  any  mind  believes  the  inclosed  territory  ex 
hausted,  there  is  nothing  further  to  be  found  outside  in 
the  waste  places — only  chaos.  And  the  mind  must  shift 
to  another  and  totally  different  pasture — which  also  has 
its  boundaries  eternal  and  fixed." 

"Right!"  exclaimed  Barrel.  "No  sculptor  can  find 
for  sculpture  any  new  mode  of  expression  beyond  the 
limits  of  the  materials  which  have  always  existed;  no 
painter  can  wander  outside  the  range  of  black  and  white, 
or  beyond  the  surface  allotted  him;  the  composer  can 
express  himself  in  music  only  within  the  limits  of  the 
audible  scale ;  the  writer  is  a  prisoner  to  grammatical  ex 
pression,  walled  always  within  the  margins  of  the  printed 
page.  Outside,  as  you  say,  lies  chaos,  possibly  madness. 
The  moderns  are  roaming  there.  And  some  of  them  are 
announcing  the  discovery  of  German  Kultur  where  they 
have  barked  their  mental  shins  in  outer  darkness." 

Karen  smiled.  "It  is  that  way  in  music  I  think. 
The  dissonance  of  mental  disturbance  warns  sanity  in 
almost  every  bar  of  modern  music.  It  is  that  which  is 
so  appalling  to  me,  Mr.  Barrel — that  in  some  modern 
ism  is  visible  and  audible  more  and  more  the  menace  of 
mental  and  moral  disintegration.  And  the  wholesome 
shrink  from  it." 

Barrel  said:  "Three  insane  'thinkers'  have  led  Ger 
many  to  the  brink  where  she  now  stands  swaying.  God 
help  her,  in  the  end,  to  convalescence — "  he  stared  at  the 
fading  sunbeams  on  the  wall,  and  staring,  quoted  : 

249 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"  'Over  broken  oaths  and 
Through  a  sea  of  blood.9  " 

He  looked  up.  "I'm  sorry:  I  forget  you  are  Ger 
man." 

"I  forget  that  I  am  supposed  to  be,  too.  .  .  .  But 
you  have  not  offended  me.  I  know  war  is  senseless.  I 
know  that  war  will  not  always  be  the  method  used  to 
settle  disputes.  There  will  be  great  changes  beginning 
very  soon  in  the  world,  I  think." 

"I  believe  so,  too.  It  will  begin  by  a  recognition  of 
the  rights  of  smaller  nations  to  self-government.  It  will 
be  an  area  of  respect  for  the  weak.  Government  by 
consent  is  not  enough ;  it  must  become  government  by 
request.  And  the  scriptures  shall  remain  no  more  sacred 
than  the  tiniest  'scrap  of  paper'  in  the  archives  of  the 
numerically  smallest  independent  community  on  earth. 

"The  era  of  physical  vastness,  of  spheres  of  influence, 
of  scope  is  dying.  The  supreme  wickedness  of  the  world 
is  Force.  That  must  end  for  nations  and  for  men.  Only 
one  conflict  remains  inevitable  and  eternal;  the  battle 
of  minds,  which  can  have  no  end." 

For  an  American  and  an  operator  in  real  estate,  Bar 
rel's  philosophy  was  harmlessly  respectable  if  not  very 
new.  But  he  thought  it  both  new  and  original,  which 
pleased  him  intensely. 

As  for  Karen,  she  had  been  thinking  of  Guild  for  the 
last  few  minutes.  Her  sewing  lay  in  her  lap,  her  dark, 
curly  head  rested  in  the  depths  of  her  arm-chair.  Sun 
light  had  almost  faded  on  the  wall. 

250 


THE   LIAR 


Through  the  window  she  could  see  the  trees.  The 
golden-green  depths  of  the  beech-wood  were  growing 
dusky.  Against  the  terrace  masses  of  salvia  and  gerani 
ums  glowed  like  coals  on  fire.  The  brown-eyed  girl  had 
been  away  with  him  a  long  while. 

Mrs.  Courland  came  in,  looking  more  youthful  and 
pretty  than  ever,  and  seated  herself  with  her  knitting. 
The  very  last  ray  from  the  sinking  sun  fell  on  her  ruddy 
hair. 

"Think  you  are  right,  Harry,"  she  said  quietly  to 
Darrel.  "I  think  we  will  sail  when  you  do.  The  men 
on  the  place  are  becoming  very  much  excited  over  this 
Uhlan  raid  on  the  cattle.  I  could  hear  them  from  my 
bedroom  window  out  by  the  winter  fold,  and  they  were 
talking  loudly  as  well  as  recklessly." 

"There's  no  telling  what  these  forest  people  may  do," 
admitted  Darrel.  "I  am  immensely  relieved  to  know 
that  you  and  Valentine  are  to  sail  when  I  do.  As  for 
Kervyn  Guild — "  he  made  a  hopeless  gesture — "his  mind 
is  made  up  and  that  always  settles  it  with  him." 

"He  won't  return  with  you?" 

"No.    He's  joining  the  Belgians." 

"Really!" 

"Yes.  You  see  his  people  were  Belgian  some  gen 
erations  back.  It's  a  matter  of  honour  with  him  and 
argument  is  wasted.  But  it  hits  me  pretty  hard." 

"I  can  understand.    He  is  a  most  delightful  man." 

"He  is  as  straight  and  square  as  he  is  delightful.  His 
mother  is  charming;  his  younger  brother  is  everything 
you'd  expect  him  to  be  after  knowing  Kervyn.  Theirs 

251 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


is  a  very  united  family,  but,  do  you  know  I  am  as  cer 
tain  as  I  am  of  anything  that  his  mother  absolutely 
approves  of  what  he  is  about  to  do.  She  is  that  sort. 
It  may  kill  her,  but  she'll  die  smiling." 

Mrs.  Courland's  serious,  sweet  eyes  rested  on  him,  sol 
emn  with  sympathy  for  the  mother  she  had  never  met. 

"The  horrid  thing  about  it  all,"  continued  Barrel,  "is 
that  Kervyn  is  one  man  in  a  million ; — and  in  a  more 
terrible  sense  that  is  all  he  can  be  in  this  frightful  and 
endless  slaughter  which  they  no  longer  even  pretend  to 
call  one  battle  or  many. 

"He's  a  drop  in  an  ocean,  only  another  cipher  in  the 
trenches  where  hell's  hail  rains  day  and  night,  day 
and  night,  beating  out  lives  without  distinction,  without 
the  intelligence  of  choice — just  raining,  raining,  and 
beating  out  life  !  .  .  .  I  can  scarcely  endure  the  thought 
of  Kervyn  ending  that  way — such  a  man — my 
friend " 

His  voice  seemed  hoarse  and  he  got  up  abruptly  and 
walked  to  the  window. 

Ashes  of  roses  lingered  in  the  west ;  the  forest  was 
calm ;  not  a  leaf  stirred  in  the  lilac-tinted  dusk. 

Karen,  who  had  been  listening,  stirred  in  the  depths 
of  her  chair  and  clasped  her  fingers  over  her  sewing. 

Mrs.  Courland  said  quietly: 

"It  is  pleasant  for  any  woman  to  have  known  such 
a  man  as  Mr.  Guild." 

"Yes,"   said  Karen. 

"If  the  charm  of  his  personality  so  impresses  us  who 
have  known  him  only  a  very  little  while,  I  am  thinking 

252 


THE   LIAR 


what  those  who  are  near  and  dear  to  him  must  feel." 

"I,  too,"  said  Karen,  faintly. 

"Yet  she  loves  him  best  who  would  not  have  it  other 
wise  it  seems." 

"Yes ;  he  must  go,"  said  Karen.  "Some  could  not 
have  it — otherwise." 

A  man  came  to  light  the  lamps.  And  a  little  while 
after  they  were  lighted  Mrs.  Courland  quietly  looked 
up  from  her  knitting.  One  swift,  clear  glance  she 
gave ;  saw  in  the  young  girl's  eyes  what  she  had 
already  divined  must  be  there.  Then  bent  again  above 
her  ivory  needles.  After  a  while  she  sighed,  very 
lightly. 

"They're  late,"  remarked  Barrel  from  the  window. 

"They  are  probably  strolling  up  the  drive ;  Valentine 
knows  enough  not  to  get  lost,"  said  her  mother. 

After  a  few  moments  Karen  said :  "Would  my  playing 
disturb  you?" 

"No,  dear.     Please!" 

So  Karen  rose  and  walked  to  the  piano.  Presently 
Darrel  turned  and  seated  himself  to  listen  to  the  death 
less  sanity  of  Beethoven  flowing  from  the  keys  under 
a  young  girl's  slender  fingers. 

She  was  still  seated  there  when  Valentine  came  in,  and 
turned  her  head  from  the  keyboard,  stilling  the  soft 
chords. 

"We  had  such  a  good  time,"  said  Valentine.  "We 
caught  half  a  dozen  trout,  and  then  I  took  him  to  the 
Pulpit  where  we  sat  down  and  remained  very  quiet ;  and 
just  at  sunset  three  boar  came  out  to  feed  on  the  oak 

253 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


mast;  and  he  said  that  one  of  them  was  worth  shoot- 
ing!" 

"You  evidently  have  had  a  good  time,"  said  Barrel, 
smiling.  "What  happened  to  Guild.  Did  the  boar 
tree  him?" 

"I  think  he'd  be  more  likely  to  tree  the  boar,"  re 
marked  the  girl.  And  to  her  mother  she  said:  "He 
went  on  toward  the  winter  fold  to  talk  to  Michaud  who 
has  just  returned  from  Trois  Fontaines.  There  were 
a  lot  of  men  there,  ours  and  a  number  of  strangers.  So 
I  left  him  to  talk  to  Michaud.  What  have  you  all  been 
doing  this  afternoon  ?"  turning  to  Karen,  and  from  her, 
involuntarily  to  Barrel. 

"Miss  Girard  and  I  have  conversed  philosophically 
and  satisfactorily  concerning  everything  on  earth,"  he 
said.  "I  wish  my  conversations  with  you  were  half  as 
satisfactory." 

Valentine  laughed,  but  there  was  a  slight  flush  on  her 
cheeks,  and  again  she  glanced  at  Karen,  whose  lovely 
profile  only  was  visible  where  she  bent  in  silence  above 
the  keyboard. 

"Your  mother,"  remarked  Barrel,  "has  decided  to  sail 
with  me.  Would  you  condescend  to  join  us,  Valentine?" 

"Mother,  are  you  really  going  back  when  Harry 
sails?" 

"Yes.  I  don't  quite  like  the  attitude  of  the  men  here. 
And  Harry  thinks  there  is  very  likely  to  be  trouble  be 
tween  them  and  the  Germans  across  the  border." 

The  girl  looked  thoughtfully  at  her  mother,  then  at 
Barrel,  rather  anxiously. 

254 


THE   LIAR 


"Mother,"  she  said,  "I  think  it  is  a  good  idea  to  get 
Harry  out  of  the  country.  He  is  very  bad-tempered, 
and  if  the  Germans  come  here  and  are  impudent  to  us 
he'll  certainly  get  himself  shot !" 

"I!  I  haven't  the  courage  of  a  caterpillar!"  pro 
tested  Barrel. 

"You're  the  worst  fibber  in  the  Ardennes!  You  did 
kill  that  grey  boar  this  morning !  What  do  you  mean 
by  telling  us  that  you  went  up  a  tree !  Maxl,  the  garde- 
de-chasse  at  the  Silverwiltz  gate,  heard  your  shot  and 
came  up.  And  you  told  him  to  dress  the  boar  and  send 
a  cart  for  it.  Which  he  did ! — you  senseless  prevarica 
tor  !" 

"Oh,  my!"  said  Barrel  meekly. 

"And  you're  wearing  a  bandage  below  your  knee 
where  the  boar  bit  you  when  you  gave  him  the  coup-de- 
grace!  Maxl  washed  and  bound  it  for  you!  What  a 
liar  you  are,  Harry !  Does  it  hurt?" 

"To  be  a  liar?" 

"No  !  where  you  were  tusked  ?" 

"Maxl  was  stringing  you,  fair  maid,"  he  said 
lightly. 

"He  wasn't!     You  walk  lame!" 

"Laziness  and  gout  account  for  that  debutante  slouch 
of  mine.  But  of  course  if  you  care  to  hold  my 
hand " 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  vexed,  yet  laughing : 

"I  don't  want  people  who  do  not  know  you  to  think 
you  really  are  the  dub  you  pretend  to  be !  Do  you  wish 
Miss  Girard  to  believe  it  ?" 


255 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Truth  is  mighty  and  must " 

"I  know  more  about  you  than  you  think  I  do,  Harry. 
Mr.  Guild  portrayed  for  me  a  few  instances  of  your 
'mouse'-like  courage.  And  I  don't  wish  you  to  lose 
your  temper  and  be  shot  if  the  Uhlans  ride  into  Lesse 
and  insult  us  all!  Therefore  I  approve  of  our  sailing 
for  home.  And  the  sooner  the  better !" 

"You  frighten  me,"  he  said ;  "I  think  I'll  ask  Jean  to 
pack  my  things  now."  And  he  got  up,  limping,  and 
started  for  the  door. 

"Mother,"  she  said,  "that  boar's  tusks  may  poison 
him.  Won't  you  make  him  let  us  bandage  it  prop 
erly?" 

"I  think  you  had  better,  Harry,"  said  Mrs.  Cour- 
land,  rising. 

"Oh,  no ;  it's  all  right " 

"Harry!"  That  was  all  Valentine  said.  But  he 
stopped  short. 

"Take  his  other  arm,  mother,"  said  the  girl  with 
decision. 

She  looked  over  her  shoulder  at  Karen;  the  two 
young  girls  exchanged  a  smile ;  then  Valentine  marched 
off  with  her  colossal  liar. 


CHAPTER    XX 

BEFORE    DINNER 

MICHAUD,  head  forester,  had  taken  off  his  grey 
felt  hat  respectfully  when  Valentine  introduced 
him  to  Guild,  there  in  the  lantern  light  of  the 
winter  sheep  fold.     A  dozen  or  more  men  standing  near 
by  in  shadowy  groups  had  silently  uncovered   at  the 
same  time.     Two  wise-looking  sheep  dogs,  squatted  on 
their  haunches,  looked  at  him. 

Then  the  girl  had  left  Guild  there  and  returned  to 
the  house. 

"I  should  like  to  have  a  few  moments  quiet  con 
versation  with  you,"  said  Guild;  and  the  stalwart, 
white-haired  forester  stepped  quietly  aside  with  him, 
following  the  younger  man  until  they  were  out  of 
earshot  of  those  gathered  by  the  barred  gate  of  the 
fold. 

"You  are  Belgian  ?"  inquired  Guild  pleasantly. 

"De  Trots  Fontaines,  monsieur." 

It  was  a  characteristic  reply.  A  Belgian  does  not 
call  himself  a  Belgian.  Always  he  designates  his  na 
tionality  by  naming  his  birthplace — as  though  the  world 
must  know  that  it  is  in  Belgium. 

257 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"And  those  people  over  there  by  the  sheep  fold?" 
asked  Guild. 

"Our  men — some  of  them — from  Ixl,  from  the  Black 
Erenz  and  the  White,  from  Lesse — one  from  Liege. 
And  there  is  one,  a  stranger." 

"From  where?" 

"Moresnet." 

"Has  he  any  political  opinions?" 

"He  says  his  heart  is  with  us.  It  is  mostly  that  way 
in  Moresnet." 

"In  Moresnet  ten  per  cent  of  the  people  are  Ger 
mans  in  sympathy,"  remarked  Guild.  "What  is  this 
man?  A  miner?" 

"A  charcoal  burner." 

"Does  he  seem  honest?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur,"  said  the  honest   forester,   simply. 

Guild  laid  one  hand  on  the  man's  broad  shoulder: 

"Michaud,"  he  said  quietly,  "I  know  I  am  among 
friends  if  you  say  I  am.  I  mean  friends  to  Belgium." 

The  dark  eyes  of  the  tall  forester  seemed  to  emit  a 
sudden  sparkle  in  the  dusk. 

"Monsieur  is  American?" 

"Yes.     My  grandfather  was  Belgian." 

"Monsieur  is  a  friend?" 

"Michaud,  my  name,  in  America  is  Guild.  My  name 
in  Belgian  is  Kervyn  Gueldres.  Judge,  then,  whether 
I  am  a  friend  to  your  country  and  your  king." 

"Gueldres!"  whispered  the  forester,  rigid.  "Kervyn 
of  Gueldres,  Comte  d'Yvoir,  Hastiere " 

"It  is  so  written  on  the  rolls  of  the  Guides." 


258 


BEFORE  DINNER 


"Monsieur  le  Comte  has  served!" 

"Two  years  with  the  colours.  I  am  here  to  report 
for  duty.  Do  you  feel  safe  to  trust  me  now,  Michaud, 
my  friend?" 

The  tall,  straight  forester  uncovered.  "Trust  a 
Gueldres!  My  God!" 

"Put  on  your  hat,"  said  Guild,  bluntly,  "I  am 
American  when  I  deal  with  men!" 

"Monsieur  le  Comte " 

"'Monsieur5  will  do.  Give  me  your  hand!  That  is 
as  it  should  be.  We  understand  each  other  I  think. 
Now  tell  me  very  clearly  exactly  what  happened  this 
morning  on  the  hill  meadows  of  the  Paillard  estate." 

"Monsieur  le " 

"Please  remember!" 

"Pardon!  Monsieur  Guild,  the  Grey  Uhlans  rode 
over  the  border  and  laughed  at  the  gendarme  on  duty. 
Straight  they  made  for  our  hill  meadows,  riding  at 
€ase  and  putting  their  horses  to  the  hedges.  Schultz, 
our  herdsman,  saw  them  trotting  like  wolves  of  the 
Black  Erenz,  ran  to  the  wooden  fence  to  close  the  gate, 
tut  their  lances  rattling  on  the  pickets  frightened  him. 

"They  herded  the  cattle  while  their  officers  sat  looking 
on  by  the  summer  fold. 

"  'Do  not  these  cattle  and  sheep  belong  to  the  Paillard 
estate?'  asks  one  of  the  officers  of  Schultz.  And,  'Very 
well  then !'  says  he ;  'we  are  liquidating  an  old  account 
with  Monsieur  Paillard!' 

"And  with  that  a  company  of  the  Grey  Ones  can 
ters  away  across  the  valley  and  up  the  slope  beyond 

259 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


where  our  shepherd,  Jean  Pascal,  is  sitting  with  his 
two  dogs. 

"  'You,  there !'  they  call  out  to  him.  'Send  out  your 
dogs  and  herd  your  sheep !'  And,  when  he  only  gapes 
at  them,  one  of  their  riders  wheels  on  him,  twirling  his 
lance  and  shoves  him  with  the  counter-balance. 

"So  they  make  him  drive  his  flock  for  them  across 
the  valley,  and  then  over  the  border — all  the  way  on 
foot,  Monsieur ;  and  then  they  tell  him  to  loiter  no  more 
but  to  go  about  his  business. 

"That  is  what  has  happened  on  our  hill  pasture.  He, 
the  lad,  Pascal,  is  over  there  with  his  dogs" — pointing 
toward  the  fold — "almost  crazed  with  grief  and  shame. 
And,  Schultz,  he  wishes  us  to  organize  as  a  franc-corps. 
Me?  I  don't  know  what  to  do — what  with  Monsieur 
Paillard  away,  and  the  forests  in  my  care.  Were  it  not 
for  my  responsibility " 

"I  know,  Michaud.  But  what  could  an  isolated  franc- 
corps  do?  Far  better  to  join  your  class  if  you  can — 
when  your  responsibility  here  permits.  Those  young 
men,  there,  should  try  to  do  the  same." 

"Monsieur  is  right!  Even  the  classes  of  1915,  '16, 
and  '17  have  been  called.  I  have  reminded  them.  But 
this  outrage  on  the  hill  pastures  has  inflamed  them  and 
made  hot-heads  of  everybody.  They  wish  to  take  their 
guns  and  hunt  Grey  Uhlans.  They  don't  know  what 
they  are  proposing.  I  saw  something  of  that  in  '70. 
Why  the  Prussians  hung  or  shot  every  franc-tireur  they 
caught;  and  invariably  the  nearest  village  was  burned. 
And  I  say  to  them  that  even  if  Monsieur  Paillard  is 

260 


BEFORE   DINNER 


dead,  as  many  are  beginning  to  believe,  his  death  does 
not  alter  our  responsibility.  Why  should  we  bring  re 
prisals  upon  his  roof,  his  fields,  his  forests?  No,  that 
is  not  honest  conduct.  But  if  we  are  now  really  con 
vinced  of  his  death,  as  soon  as  Madame  Courland  leaves, 
let  us  turn  over  the  estate  to  the  proper  authorities  in 
Luxembourg.  Then  will  each  and  all  of  us  be  free  to 
join  the  colours  when  summoned — if  God  will  only  show 
us  how  to  do  it." 

"Madame  Courland  and  mademoiselle  ought  to  go  to 
morrow,"  said  Guild.  "One  or  another  of  your  hot 
heads  over  there  might  get  us  into  trouble  this  very 
night." 

"The  man  from  Moresnet  talks  loudest.  I  have  tried 
to  reason  with  him,"  said  Michaud.  "Would  you  come 
to  the  fold  with  me?" 

They  walked  together  toward  the  lantern  light;  the 
men  standing  there  turned  toward  them  and  ceased 
their  excited  conversation. 

"Friends,"  said  old  Michaud  simply,  "this  gentle 
man's  name  is  Kervyn  of  Gueldres.  I  think  that  is  suffi 
cient  for  any  Belgian,  or  for  any  man  from  the  Grand 
Duchy?" 

Off  came  every  hat. 

"Cover  yourselves,"  continued  Michaud  calmly. 
"Monsieur,  who  has  become  an  American,  desires  to  be 
known  as  Monsieur  Guild  without  further  mark  of  re 
spect.  This  also  is  sufficient  for  us  all,  I  suppose. 
Thou!  Jean  Pascal,  cease  thy  complaints  and  stand 
straight  and  wipe  thy  tears.  By  God,  I  think  there  are 

261 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


other  considerations  in  Lesse  Forest  than  the  loss  of  thy 
sheep  and  of  Schultz's  cattle !" 

"M-my  sheep  are  gone!"  blubbered  the  boy,  "I  was 
too  cowardly  to  defend  them " 

"Be  quiet,"  said  Guild.  "It  was  not  a  question  of 
your  courage!  You  did  wisely.  Show  equal  wisdom 
now." 

"But  I  shall  go  after  Uhlans  now  with  my  fusil-de- 
chasse!  Ah,  the  cowards  of  Germans!  Ah,  the  bri 
gands " 

"Cowards  !  Assassins  !"  muttered  the  other.  "Grey 
wolves  run  when  a  man  goes  after  them " 

"You  are  wrong,"  said  Guild  quietly.  "Germans  are 
no  cowards.  If  they  were  there  would  be  no  credit  for 
us  in  fighting  them.  Don't  make  any  mistake  you  men 
of  the  Ardennes ;  their  soldiers  are  as  brave  as  any  sol 
diers.  And  where  you  belong  is  with  your  colours,  with 
your  classes,  and  in  uniform.  That's  where  I  also  be 
long  ;  that's  where  I  am  going  if  I  can  find  out  how  to 
go.  Perhaps  one  of  you  can  guide  me.  Think  it  over. 
Keep  cool,  and  listen  to  Michaud,  who  is  older  and  wiser 
than  all  of  us." 

There  was  a  profound  silence.  Then  a  voice  from  the 
darkness,  very  distinct: 

"I  have  seen  red.  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  bleed  an 
Uhlan!" 

Guild  walked  toward  the  sound  of  the  voice:  "Who 
are  you?"  he  demanded. 

"If ol,  je  suis  de  Moresnet!" 

"Then  you'd  better  go  back  to  the  zinc  mines  of  Mo- 

262 


BEFORE   DINNER 


resnet,  my  friend.  No  Uhlans  will  trouble  you  down 
there." 

And,  aside  to  Michaud:  "Look  out  for  that  young 
man  from  Moresnet.  He's  too  hotly  a  Belgian  to  suit 
my  taste." 

"Monsieur,  he  is  a  talker,"  said  Michael  with  a  shrug. 

"My  friend,  be  careful  that  he  is  nothing  more  dan 
gerous." 

"Ah,  sacre  bleu !"  exclaimed  the  forester,  reddening  to 
his  white  temples — "if  any  of  that  species  had  the  temer 
ity  to  come  among  us  ! " 

"Michaud,  they  might  even  be  among  the  King's  own 
entourage.  .  .  .  No  doubt  that  fellow  is  merely,  as 
you  say,  a  talker.  But — he  should  not  be  left  to  wander 
about  the  woods  alone.  And,  tell  me,  is  there  anybody 
else  you  know  of  who  might  do  something  rash  tonight 
along  the  boundary?" 

"Monsieur — there  are  two  or  three  poor  devils  who 
escaped  the  firing  squads  at  Yslemont.  They  live  in 
our  forest,  hiding.  Our  people  feed  them." 

Guild  said  in  a  troubled  voice:  "Such  charity  is  an 
obligation.  But  nevertheless  it  is  a  peril  and  a  menace 
to  us  all." 

"Were  this  estate  my  own,"  said  the  sturdy  forester, 
"I  would  shelter  them  as  long  as  they  desired  to  remain. 
But  I  am  responsible  to  Monsieur  Paillard,  and  to  his 
tenant,  Madame  Courland.  Therefore  I  have  asked 
these  poor  refugees  to  continue  on  to  Diekirch  or  to 
Luxembourg  where  the  sight  of  an  Uhlan's  schapska 
will  be  no  temptation  to  them." 

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WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"You  are  right,  Michaud."  He  held  out  his  hand ; 
the  forester  grasped  it.  "Tomorrow  we  should  talk 
further.  Our  duty  is  to  join  the  colours,  not  to  prowl 
through  the  woods  assassinating  Uhlans.  Good  night ! 
In  the  morning  then?" 

"At  Monsieur's  service." 

"And  both  of  us  at  the  service  of  the  bravest  man  in 
Europe — Albert,  the  King !" 

Off  came  their  hats.  And,  as  they  stood  there  in 
silence  under  the  stars,  from  far  away  across  the  misty 
sea  of  trees  came  the  sound  of  a  gun-shot. 

"One  of  your  men?"  asked  Guild  sharply. 

"I  don't  know,  Monsieur.  Big  boar  feed  late.  A 
poacher  perhaps.  Perhaps  a  garde-de-chasse  at  Trois 
Fontaines." 

"I  hope  nothing  worse." 

"I  pray  God  not." 

They  continued  to  listen  for  a  while,  but  no  other 
sound  broke  the  starry  silence.  And  finally  Guild 
turned  away  with  a  slight  gesture,  and  walked  slowly 
back  to  the  Lodge. 

Lights  from  the  tall  windows  made  brilliant  patches 
and  patterns  across  terrace  and  grass  and  flowers ;  the 
front  door  was  open  and  the  pleasant  ruddy  lamp-light 
streamed  out. 

Valentine  passing  and  mounting  the  stairs  caught 
sight  of  him  and  waved  her  hand  in  friendly  salute. 

"We're  sterilizing  Harry's  shins — mother  and  I. 
The  foolish  boy  was  rather  badly  tusked." 

"Is  he  all  right?" 

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BEFORE  DINNER 


"Perfectly,  and  bored  to  death  by  our  fussing." 

She  ran  on  up  the  stairs,  paused  again :  "We're  not 
dressing  for  dinner,"  she  called  down  to  him,  and  van 
ished. 

Guild  said,  "All  right!"  glanced  at  the  hall  clock, 
and  sauntered  on  into  the  big  living-room  so  unmis 
takably  American  in  its  brightness  and  comfort. 

But  it  was  not  until  he  had  dropped  back  into  the 
friendly  embrace  of  a  stuffed  arm-chair  that  he  was 
aware  of  Karen  curled  up  in  the  depths  of  another, 
sewing. 

"I  didn't  know  you  were  here,"  he  said  coolly.  "Have 
you  had  an  agreeable  afternoon  ?" 

"Yes,  thank  you." 

"It's  a  very  charming  place." 

"Yes." 

"I  think  the  Courlands  are  delightful." 

"Very." 

"Miss  Courland  and  I  had  a  wonderful  walk.  We 
had  no  trouble  in  taking  all  the  trout  we  needed  for  din 
ner,  and  then  we  went  to  a  rock  called  The  Pulpit, 
where  we  lay  very  still  and  talked  only  in  whispers  until 
three  wild  boars  came  out  to  feed." 

Karen  lifted  her  eyes  from  her  sewing.  They  seemed 
unusually  dark  to  him,  almost  purple. 

"After  that,"  he  went  on,  "we  walked  back  along  the 
main  ride  to  a  carrefour  where  the  drive  crosses ;  and  so 
back  here.  That  accounts  for  my  afternoon."  He 
added,  smiling  carelessly :  "May  I  ask  you  to  account 
for  yours?" 

265 


J 

WHO    GOES    THERE! 


"Yes,  please." 

"Very  well,  then  I  do  ask  it." 

She  bent  over  her  sewing  again:  "I  have  been 
idle.  The  sun  was  agreeable.  I  went  for  a  little  stroll 
alone  and  found  an  old  wall  and  a  pool  and  a  rose 
garden." 

"And  then?" 

"The  rose  garden  is  very  lovely.  I  sat  there  sewing 
and — thinking " 

"About  what?" 

"About — you — mostly." 

He  said  steadily  enough:  "Were  your  thoughts 
pleasant?" 

"Partly." 

"Only  partly?" 

"Yes.  ...  I  remembered  that  you  are  joining  your 
regiment." 

"But  that  should  not  be  an  unpleasant  thought  for 
you,  Karen." 

"No.  I  would  have  it  so,  of  course.  It  could  not 
be  otherwise  under  the  circumstances." 

"It  could  not  be  otherwise,"  he  said  pleasantly;  but 
his  grey  eyes  never  left  the  pale,  sweet  profile  bent 
above  the  leisurely  moving  needle. 

"I  understand." 

"I  know  you  understand  that — at  least,  Karen." 

"Yes.  Other  matters,  too — a  little  better  than  I  did 
— this  morning." 

"What  matters?"  he  asked  casually.  But  his  heart 
was  threatening  to  meddle  with  his  voice;  and  he  set  his 

266 


BEFORE   DINNER 


lips  sternly  and  touched  his  short  mustache  with  care 
less  fingers. 

Karen  bent  still  lower  over  her  sewing.  The  light 
was  perfectly  good,  however. 

"What,"  he  asked  again,  "are  the  matters  which  you 
now  understand  better  than  you  did  this  morning?" 

"Matters — concerning — love." 

He  laughed:     "Do  you  think  you  understand  love?" 

"A  little  better  than  I  did." 

"In  what  way?  You  are  not  in  love,  are  you,  Karen?" 

"I  think— a— little." 

"With  whom?" 

No  answer. 

"Not  with  me?" 

"Yes."  She  turned  swiftly  in  the  depths  of  her  chair 
to  confront  him  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

"Wait !"  she  managed  to  say ;  and  remained  silent, 
one  slim  hand  against  her  breast.  And,  after  a  mo 
ment  :  "Would  you  not  come  any  nearer,  please." 

"Karen " 

"Not  now,  please.  .  .  .  Sit  there  where  you  were. 
...  I  can  tell  you  better — all  I  know — about  it." 

She  bent  again  over  her  needle,  sewing  half  blindly, 
the  hurrying  pulses  making  her  hand  unsteady.  After 
he  was  seated  she  turned  her  head  partly  around  for  a 
moment,  looking  at  him  with  a  fascinated  and  almost 
breathless  curiosity. 

"If  I  tell  you,  you  will  come  no  nearer;  will  you?" 
she  asked. 

"No.    Tell  me." 


267 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


She  sewed  for  a  while  at  random,  not  conscious  what 
her  fingers  were  doing,  striving  to  think  clearly  in  the 
menace  of  these  new  emotions,  the  power  of  which  she 
was  divining  now,  realizing  more  deeply  every  second. 

"I'll  try  to  tell  you,"  she  said:  "I  didn't  know  any 
thing — about  myself — this  morning.  What  we  had  been 
to  each  other  I  considered  friendship.  Remember  it  was 
my  first  friendship  with  a  man.  And — I  thought  it  was 
that." 

After  a  silence :    "Was  it  anything  deeper  ?"  he  asked. 

"Yes,  deeper.  .  .  .  You  frightened  me  at  first.  .  .  . 
I  was  hurt.  .  .  .  But  not  ashamed  or  angry.  And  I 
did  not  understand  why.  .  .  .  Until  you  spoke  and  said 
— what  you  said." 

"That  I  love  you?" 

"Yes.  .  .  .  After  that  things  grew  slowly  clearer  to 
me.  I  don't  know  what  I  said  to  you — half  the  things 
I  said  on  the  way  back — only  that  I  made  you  angry — 
and  I  continued,  knowing  that  you  were  angry  and  that 
I — I  was  almost  laughing — I  don't  know  why — only 
that  I  needed  time  to  try  to  think.  .  .  .  You  can't 
understand,  can  you?" 

"I  think  so." 

She  looked  up,  then  bowed  her  head  once  more. 

"That  is  all,"  she  said  under  her  breath. 

"Nothing  more,  Karen?" 

"Only  that — after  you  had  gone  away  this  afternoon 
I  began  to  be  a  little  in  love." 

"Will  it  grow?" 

"I  think  so." 

268 


BEFORE   DINNER 


"May  I  tell  you  that  I  love  you?" 

"Yes,  please." 

His  clasped  hands  tightened  on  his  knees ;  he  said  in 
a  low  unsteady  voice :  "All  my  heart  is  yours,  Karen — 
all  there  is  in  me  of  love  and  loyalty,  honour  and  devo 
tion,  is  yours.  Into  my  mind  there  is  no  thought  that 
comes  which  is  not  devoted  to  you  or  influenced  by  my 
adoration  of  you.  I  love  you — every  word  you  utter, 
every  breath  you  draw,  every  thought  you  think  I  love. 
The  most  wonderful  thing  in  the  world  would  be  that 
you  should  love  me ;  the  greatest  miracle  that  you  might 
marry  me.  Dare  I  hope  for  you,  Karen  ?" 

"Yes— please." 

"That  you  will  grow  to  really  love  me?" 

"Yes." 

"With  all  your  heart?" 

"I  think  so." 

In  the  tremulous  silence  she  turned  again  and  looked 
at  him,  bending  very  low  over  her  work. 

"Will  you  be  gentle  with  me,  Kervyn?" 

"Dearest " 

"I  mean — considerate — at  first.  .  .  .  There  is  a 
great  deal  I  don't  know  about  men — and  being  in  love 
with  one  of  them.  .  .  .  Brought  up  as  I  have  been,  I 
could  not  understand  that  you  should  take  me — in  your 
arms.  ...  I  was  not  angry — not  even  ashamed.  .  .  . 
Only,  never  having  thought  of  it — and  taking  it  for 
granted  that,  among  people  of  your  caste  and  mine,  to 
touch  a  man's  lips  was  an  act — of  betrothal — perhaps 
of  marriage " 

269 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Dearest,  it  was!" 

"Yes,  I  understand  now.  But  for  a  while  I  felt — 
strangely — overwhelmed.  .  .  .  You  can  understand 
' — having  no  mother — and  suddenly  face  to  face 
with — you " 

She  leaned  her  cheek  against  the  back  of  the  chair 
and  rested  so,  her  small  white  hands  folded  over  her 
sewing. 

"I  have  yet  to  see  Baron  Kurt,"  she  said  half  to  her 
self.  "I  shall  say  to  him  that  I  care  for  you.  After 
that — when  you  come  back,  and  if  you  wish  me  to 
marry  you — ask  me." 

He  stood  up:  "How  near  may  I  come  to  you, 
Karen?" 

"Not  very  near — just  now." 

"Near  enough  to  kiss  your  finger-tip.'* 

"Yes,  please." 

Without  turning  her  head  she  extended  her  arm ;  his 
lips  touched  lightly  the  fragrant  skin,  and  she  pressed 
her  fingers  a  trifle  closer — a  second  only — then  her  arm 
fell  to  her  lap. 

"After  dinner,"  she  said,  "I  shall  show  you  the  roses 
in  the  garden." 

"They  are  no  sweeter  than  your  hand,  Karen." 

She  smiled,  her  flushed  cheek  still  resting  against  the 
cushions. 

"It  is  very  wonderful,  very  gentle  after  all,"  she 
murmured  to  herself. 

"What,  Karen?" 

"I  meant  love,"  she  said,  dreamily. 

270 


CHAPTER  XXI 

SNIPERS 

DINNER  was  ended.  Darrel  lay  on  a  lounge  in 
the  sitting-room,  a  victim  against  his  will  to 
romance.  Beside  him  on  a  low  footstool  sat 
Valentine,  reading  aloud  to  him  when  she  thought  he 
ought  to  be  read  to,  fussing  with  his  pillows  when  she 
chose  to  fuss,  taking  his  cigarette  from  his  lips  and 
inserting  a  thermometer  at  intervals,  and  always  calmly 
indifferent  to  his  protests  or  to  her  mother's  laughter. 

For  she  had  heard  somewhere  that  a  wild  boar's  teeth 
poisoned  like  a  lion's  mauling ;  and  the  sudden  revelation 
of  a  hero  under  the  shattered  shell  of  modesty  and  self- 
depreciation  which  so  long  obscured  the  romantic  quali 
ties  in  this  young  man  determined  her  to  make  him  con 
tinue  to  play  a  role  which  every  girl  adores — the  role 
of  the  stricken  brave. 

Never  again  could  Darrel  explain  to  her  how  timidity, 
caution,  and  a  native  and  unfeigned  stupidity  invariably 
characterized  his  behaviour  at  psychological  moments. 

For  Guild  had  told  her  all  about  this  young  man's 
cool  resourcefulness  and  almost  nerveless  courage  during 
those  hair-raising  days  in  Sonora  when  the  great  Yo 

271 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


Espero  ranch  was  besieged,  and  every  American  pris 
oner  taken  was  always  reported  "Shot  in  attempting  to 
escape." 

She  had  never  even  known  that  Barrel  had  been  in 
Mexico  until  Guild  told  her  about  their  joint  mining 
enterprise  and  how,  under  a  spineless  Administration, 
disaster  had  wiped  out  their  property,  and  had  nearly 
done  the  same  for  them. 

"Mother,"  said  the  girl,  "I  think  I'll  look  at  his 
shin  again." 

"Nonsense!"  protested  Darrel,  struggling  to  sit  up, 
and  being  checked  by  a  soft  but  firm  little  hand  flat 
against  his  chest. 

"I  don't  want  to  have  my  shin  looked  at,"  he  repeated 
helplessly. 

"Mother,  I  am  going  to  change  the  dressing.  Will 
you  help?" 

"For  the  love  of  Mike " 

"Be  quiet,  Harry !" 

"Then  make  Guild  go  out  of  the  room !  He's  laugh 
ing  at  me  now!" 

Karen  was  laughing,  too,  and  now  she  turned  to  Guild : 
"Come,"  she  said,  smilingly ;  "we  are  not  welcome  here. 
Also  I  do  want  you  to  see  the  rose  garden  by  star-light." 
And  to  Mrs.  Courland,  naively :  "May  we  please  be  ex 
cused  to  see  your  lovely  garden  ?" 

The  pretty  young  matron  smiled  and  nodded,  busy 
with  the  box  of  first-aid  bandages  for  which  Valentine 
was  now  waiting. 

So   Karen    and   Guild   went   out   together   into   the 

272 


SNIPERS 


star-light,  across  the  terrace  and  lawns  and  down  along 
a  dim  avenue  of  beeches. 

The  night  was  aromatic  with  the  clean  sweet  odour 
of  the  forest;  a  few  leaves  had  fallen,  merely  a  tracery 
of  delicate  burnt-gold  under  foot. 

Karen  turned  to  the  right  between  tall  clipped  hedges. 

Mossy  steps  of  stone  terminated  the  alley  and  led 
down  into  an  old  sunken  garden  with  wall  and  pool  and 
ghostly  benches  of  stone,  and  its  thousands  of  roses 
perfuming  the  still  air. 

They  were  all  there,  the  heavenly  company,  dimly 
tinted  in  crimson,  pink,  and  gold — Rose  de  Provence, 
Gloire  de  Dijon,  Damask,  Turkish,  Cloth  of  Gold — ex 
quisite  ghosts  of  their  ardent  selves — immobile  phan 
toms,  mystic,  celestial,  under  the  high  lustre  of  the  stars. 

Mirror-dark,  the  round  pool's  glass  reflected  a  silvery 
inlay  of  the  constellations ;  tall  trees  bordered  the  wall, 
solemn,  unstirring,  as  though  ranged  there  for  some  mid 
night  rite.  The  thin  and  throbbing  repetition  of  hidden 
insects  were  the  only  sounds  in  that  still  and  scented 
place. 

They  leaned  upon  the  balustrade  of  stone  and  looked 
down  into  the  garden  for  a  while.  She  stirred  first, 
turning  a  little  way  toward  him.  And  together  they 
descended  the  steps  and  walked  to  the  pool's  rim. 

Once,  while  they  stood  there,  she  moved  away  from 
his  side  and  strolled  away  among  the  roses,  roaming  at 
random,  pausing  here  and  there  to  bend  and  touch  with 
her  face  some  newly  opened  bud. 

Slender  and  shadowy  she  lingered  among  the  unclos- 

273 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ing  miracles  of  rose  and  gold,  straying,  loitering,  wan 
dering  on,  until  again  she  found  herself  beside  the  pool 
of  mirror  black — and  beside  her  lover. 

"Your  magic  garden  is  all  you  promised,"  he  said  in 
a  low  voice — "very  wonderful,  very  youthful  in  its 
ancient  setting  of  tree  and  silvered  stone.  And  now 
the  young  enchantress  is  here  among  her  own;  and  the 
spell  of  her  fills  all  the  world." 

"Do  you  mean  me?" 

"You,  Karen,  matchless  enchantress,  sorceress  in 
comparable  who  has  touched  with  her  wand  the  old- 
familiar  world  and  made  of  it  a  paradise." 

"Because  I  said  I  loved  you — a  little — has  it  become 
a  paradise?  You  know  I  only  said  (a  little.9  " 

"I  remember. 

"Of  course,"  she  added  with  a  slight  sigh,  "it  has  be 
come  more,  now,  since  I  first  said  that  to  you.  I 

shouldn't  call  it  'a  little,'  now;  I  should  call  it " 

She  hesitated. 

"Much?" 

She  seemed  doubtful.  "Yes,  I  think  it  is  becoming 
'much'— little  by  little." 

"May  I  kiss — your  hand?" 

"Yes,  please." 

"And  clasp  your  waist — very  lightly — this  way?" 

"In  sign  of  betrothal?" 

"Yes." 

She  looked  up  at  him  out  of  the  stillest,  purest  eyes 
he  had  ever  beheld. 

"You  know  best,  Kervyn,  what  we  may  do." 

274- 


SNIPERS 


"I  know,"  he  said,  drawing  her  nearer. 

After  a  moment  she  rested  her  cheek  against  his 
shoulder. 

Standing  so  beside  the  pool,  breathing  the  incense  of 
the  roses,  she  thought  of  the  dream,  and  the  gay  chal 
lenge,  "Who  goes  there?"  She  was  beginning  to  sus 
pect  the  answer,  now.  It  was  Love  who  had  halted  her 
on  that  flower-set  frontier ;  the  password,  which  she  had 
not  known  then,  was  "Love."  Love  had  laughed  at  her 
but  had  granted  her  right  of  way  across  that  border 
into  the  Land  of  Dreams.  And  now,  unchallenged, 
save  by  her  own  heart,  she  had  come  once  more  to  the 
borderland  of  flowers. 

"Halt!"  said  her  heart,  alert;  "who  goes  there?" 

"It  is  I,  Karen,  wearing  the  strange,  new  name  of 
Love " 

She  lifted  her  head,  drew  one  hand  swiftly  across  her 
eyes  as  though  to  clear  them,  then  stepped  free  from 
the  arm  that  encircled  her. 

"Karen " 

"Yes,  I — I  do  love  you,"  she  stammered — "with  all — 
all  my  heart " 

"Halt!"  rang  out  a  voice  like  a  pistol  shot  from  the 
darkness. 

The  girl  stood  rigid ;  Guild  sprang  to  her  side.  "Qui 
.vive!"  cried  the  voice. 

"Belgium !"  said  Guild  coolly. 

"Then  who  goes  there ! — you ! — below  there  in  that 
garden  ?" 

"Friends  to  Belgium,"  replied  Guild  in  a  quiet  and 

275 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


very  grave  voice.  "Don't  move,  dearest,"  he  whis 
pered. 

"What  is  happening?" 

"I  don't  know,  yet." 

Presently,  nearer  the  balustrade  above  them,  the  voice 
came  again:  "Is  it  Monsieur  Guild?" 

"Yes.     Who  are  you?" 

"Pardon.  Will  Monsieur  come  up  to  the  terrace?  I 
am  watching  the  wall  beyond  the  pool." 

They  ascended  the  stone  steps ;  Karen  moving  lightly 
beside  him.  In  the  shadow  of  the  clipped  yews  a  dark 
form  stirred. 

"Pardon.  I  did  not  recognize  Monsieur  Guild  nor 
Mademoiselle.  There  is  trouble." 

It  was  Schultz  the  herdsman ;  his  rifle  was  in  his  hand 
and  he  wore  two  cartridge-belts  crossed  over  his  smock 
en  bandouliere. 

He  touched  his  hat  to  Karen,  but  turned  immediately 
toward  the  star-lit  sky-line  where  the  dark  coping  of 
the  wall  cut  it. 

"What  is  the  trouble?"  asked  Guild  with  a  sinking 
heart. 

"God  knows  how  it  happened,  Monsieur  Guild — but 
there  was  bad  blood  tonight  and  hot  heads  full  of  it. 
Then,  very  far  in  the  forest,  a  shot  was  fired." 

"I  heard  it.    What  happened?" 

"Listen,  Monsieur !  The  Moresnet  man  and  the  boy, 
Jean  Pascal,  put  their  heads  together.  I  don't  know 
how  it  was,  but  even  after  what  you  said  to  us,  and 
after  Michaud  told  us  to  remain  prudent  and  calm, 

276 


"Standing  so  beside  the  pool,  breathing  the  incense  of  the 
roses,  she  thought  of  the  dvespq "    /      »*•,»*" 


SNIPERS 


somehow  after  we  heard  that  shot  we  all,  one  by  one, 
took  down  our  guns;  and  after  a  little  while  we  found 
ourselves  together  in  the  carrefour. 

"And  from  there  we  went,  without  saying  a  word,  to 
the  Calvary  on  the  hill  pasture  road.  It  was  as  though 
each  of  us  understood  without  telling  each  other — with 
out  even  hinting  at  a  plan. 

"And  by  and  by  we  went  down  by  the  rivulet  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill  pastures,  and  there,  as  we  expected, 
were  two  of  the  Yslemont  refugees.  They  had  their 
guns.  And  one  of  them  had  a  spiked  helmet." 

"Go  on,"  said  Guild,  compressing  his  lips. 

"He  had  taken  it  near  Trois  Fontaines,  not  below 
the  hill.  We  all  examined  it.  We  saw  red,  Monsieur. 
Then  a  calf  which  had  escaped  the  Grey  Wolves  moved 
in  the  bushes  near  us.  The  Moresnet  man  caught  it, 
and  he  and  the  shepherd,  little  Jean  Pascal,  took  the 
dumb  beast  and  tied  it  to  a  sapling  near  the  road.  On 
our  side  of  the  boundary !  But  we  all  knew  what  might 
happen." 

There  was  a  silence ;  then  Schultz  said  in  a  low, 
hoarse  voice :  "It  was  fated  to  be.  We  took  both  sides 
of  the  road  in  the  long  grasses  of  the  ditches.  And  the 
calf  bawled  for  company. 

"The  company  came  after  a  while — two  Grey 
Wolves.  First  we  heard  the  clink-clink  of  their  horses' 
feet ;  then  we  saw  their  lances  against  the  sky. 

"They  came  on,  picking  their  way.  And  of  a  sud 
den  the  electric  breast-torch  on  one  of  them  breaks 
out  like  a  blinding  star,  plays  over  the  road,  then 

277 


WHO   GOES  THERE! 


lights  up  the  calf  which  is  terrified  and  backs  into  the 
-hedge. 

"He  drives  his  lance-butt  into  the  sod  and  gets  out 
<o?  his  saddle.  His  comrade  sits  the  other  horse,  pistol 
lifted,  elbow  on  thigh.  And  there  comes  then  another 
Uhlan,  walking  and  leading  his  horse — three  of  the 
dirty  brigands,  Monsieur,  across  the  border  and  on  our 
side!" 

"Go  on." 

"Eh  bien— we  bled  them !" 

"You  killed  them?" 

"Yes,  Monsieur — two  there  by  the  hedge  in  the  grassy 
ditch ;  the  other  hung  to  his  horse  for  a  while — but  came 
off  sideways.  One  spur  caught  and  his  horse  took  him 
back  that  way — across  the  border." 

"Go  on." 

"We  took  their  schapskas.  Jean  Pascal  wished  to  go 
across  the  border  after  more  Wolves.  He  was  crazy. 
And  the  blood  made  us  all  a  little  drunk.  And  then  we 
found  that  the  Moresnet  man  had  gone.  That  chilled 
us." 

He  wiped  his  face  with  his  sleeve,  never  taking  his 
eyes  from  the  wall  across  the  garden. 

"After  that,"  he  said,  "we  lay  very  still,  watching. 
And  in  a  little  while  an  Uhlan  crossed  the  hill  pasture 
walking  his  horse  slowly  against  the  stars.  Then  there 
were  others  moving  across  the  sky  up  there,  and  we 
also  heard  others  on  the  road.  So  we  have  been  quietly 
falling  back  into  the  forest  where,  if  they  follow,  they 
shall  not  go  back,  please  God !" 

278 


SNIPERS 


"Where  is  Michaud?" 

"He  was  very  angry,  but,  since  the  affair  has  really] 
begun,  he  is  with  us,  of  course." 

"Where  is  he?" 

"He  went  to  the  house  to  find  you  an  hour  ago." 

Guild  bit  his  lip  in  silence.  The  stupidity  of  what 
had  been  done,  the  utter  hopelessness  of  the  situation 
sickened  him. 

The  slow,  groping  peasant  mind,  occupied  always 
with  the  moment's  problem  only,  solving  it  by  impulse 
and  instinct  alone — what  could  be  done  with  such  a  mind 
— what  could  be  hoped  from  it  except  under  patiently 
inculcated  military  discipline. 

Loosened  from  that,  and  defending  its  property  from 
actual  or  threatened  aggression,  it  became  a  furtive, 
fierce  and  quickened  mind,  alternately  cunning  and 
patiently  ferocious.  But  of  reason,  or  of  logic,  it 
reckons  nothing,  knows  nothing. 

Trouble  had  begun — trouble  was  abroad  already  in 
the  star-light — moving,  menacing. 

"What  is  your  word?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Yslemont." 

He  turned  to  Karen,  who  stood  quietly  beside  him: 
"The  ladies  must  leave  this  house  tonight.  There  is 
no  time  at  all  to  waste.  There  is  going  to  be  real  trouble 
here  by  morning.  And  I  am  going  to  ask  you  if  you 
will  give  these  American  ladies  shelter  tonight  at  Quel- 
lenheim.  Will  you,  Karen?" 

"Of  course." 

"From  there  they  can  go  to  the  city  of  Luxembourg 

279 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


tomorrow,  and  so  into  Holland.     But  they  ought  to  go 
now." 

"And  you,  Kervyn?" 

"I  shall  be  very  busy,"  he  said.  "Come  back  to  the 
house,  now." 

They  walked  away  together,  moving  quickly  along  the 
beech-woods ;  she  with  that  youthful,  buoyant  step  as 
lithe  as  a  young  boy's ;  he  beside  her  with  grave,  pre 
occupied  face  and  ears  alert  for  the  slightest  sound. 

"Kervyn?" 

"Yes." 

"Will  you  come  back  to  Quellenheim,  too?" 

"I  can't  do  that,  dearest." 

"May  I  ask  you  what  you  are  going  to  do?" 

"Dear,  I  don't  know  yet.  I  haven't  formed  any  plan 
at  all." 

"Is  it  not  very  dangerous  for  you  to  remain  here?" 

"No,  I  think  not.  .  .  .  That  is— I  shall  see  how  this 
matter  threatens  to  develop." 

He  felt  her  hand  lightly  on  his  arm,  looked  around, 
halted.  She  came  to  him,  laid  her  cheek  against  his 
breast  in  silence. 

"You  must  not  be  afraid  for  me,  Karen." 

"I  shall  try — to  remember." 

He  lifted  one  of  her  hands.  It  was  cold  and  deli 
cately  fragrant.  He  kissed  it. 

"The  Bank  at  Diekirch  is  my  address.  I  shall  try 
to  write  you.  I  shall  come  back  some  day  and  marry 
you.  Do  you  love  me,  Karen?" 

"With  all— all  my— soul." 

280 


SNIPERS 


"And  you  will  marry  me  ?" 

"Yes,  Kervyn." 

She  looked  up,  her  eyes  brilliant  as  wet  stars.  And 
very  gently,  almost  timidly,  they  exchanged  their  be 
trothal,  lip  to  lip. 

He  drew  her  to  him  a  little  closer — held  her  so  a  mo 
ment,  scarcely  in  contact.  Then  they  turned  again  to 
the  grassy  ride  and  moved  swiftly  forward  toward  the 
drive. 

Every  light  in  the  house  had  been  lit,  apparently. 
The  automobile  stood  before  the  door ;  three  forest  wag 
gons  with  their  big  fine  horses  were  in  line  behind ;  and 
servants  were  loading  them  with  American  trunks,  suit 
cases,  and  luggage  of  every  description,  under  the 
active  direction  of  Barrel. 

When  he  saw  Guild  and  Karen  coming  he  called  out : 
"Your  luggage  is  packed !  Mrs.  Courland  and  Valen 
tine  and  their  two  maids  are  filling  hampers  with  bed 
linen  and  knick-knacks.  You've  heard  what's  happened, 
of  course?" 

"Yes,"  said  Guild.  "I  don't  think  you  had  better 
waste  any  more  time  packing.  Let  the  ladies  get  into 
the  car  and  start.  Michaud  and  I  can  gather  up  what's 
left  of  their  effects  and  send  it  after  them  in  the  last 
waggon  !  Where  is  Michaud  ?" 

"Talking  to  Mrs.  Courland  inside.  Here  he  comes, 
now! " 

The  white-haired  forester  came  out  behind  Mrs. 
Courland,  caught  sight  of  Guild,  and  made  a  slight  ges 
ture  expressing  infinite  despair. 

281 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"I  know,"  said  Guild.  "I'll  talk  it  over  with  you 
after  the  household  leaves."  And  to  Mrs.  Courland, 
who  appeared  calm  but  a  trifle  dazed:  "Miss  Girard 
offers  you  Quellenheim  for  the  night,  and  for  longer  if 
you  desire." 

"Please,"  said  Karen,  coming  forward — "it  would  be 
very  gracious  of  you  to  come.  Will  you,  Mrs.  Cour 
land?" 

"Thank  you,  dear — yes — it  will  be  the  greatest  con 
venience.  I  don't  know  when  we  should  arrive  at  Lux 
embourg  if  we  started  now."  She  took  one  of  Karen's 
hands  and  turned  to  Guild :  "What  a  terrible  thing  our 
people  have  done !  Michaud  came  to  tell  us ;  Harry 
started  everybody  packing  up.  You  will  come  with  us, 
of  course?" 

"Perhaps  later,  thank  you."  He  turned  to  Valentine 
who  was  coming  out  in  hat  and  coat,  followed  by  a 
pale-faced  maid  carrying  both  arms  full  of  wraps. 

"Please  don't  lose  any  time,"  said  Guild,  selecting 
wraps  for  Mrs.  Courland  and  for  Karen.  "Are  your 
servants  ready?" 

"Nobody  is  ready,"  said  Valentine,  "but  everybody 
is  here  or  in  the  hall,  I  think." 

Guild  gave  his  arm  to  Mrs.  Courland  and  helped 
that  active  young  matron  spring  into  the  touring  car. 
Karen  went  next.  Valentine  and  two  maids  followed; 
Guild  slammed  the  door. 

"All  right!"  he  said  curtly  to  the  chauffeur,  then, 
hat  in  hand,  he  said  gaily:  "Au  revoir!  A  happy  re 
union  for  us  all!" 

282 


SNIPERS 


As  the  car  rolled  out  into  the  shining  path  of  its  own 
lamps  Karen  turned  and  looked  back  at  him.  And  as 
long  as  he  could  see  her  she  was  looking  back. 

After  the  car  followed  two  of  the  forest  waggons,  one 
filled  with  servants,  the  other  loaded  with  luggage. 
Darrel  came  out  of  the  house  with  the  last  odds  and  ends 
of  property  belonging  to  the  Courlands  and  flung  it 
pell-mell  into  the  last  waggon. 

"Come  on,"  he  said  briskly  to  Guild. 

"No,  go  ahead,  Harry.  I'm  stopping  to  talk  with 
Michaud " 

"Well  how  are  you  going  to  get  to  Quellenheim  ?" 

"When  I'm  ready  to  go  I'll  get  there." 

" You're  not  coming?" 

"Not  now." 

Darrel  came  over  and  said,  dropping  his  voice: 
"After  this  murdering  business  it  won't  do  for  you  to 
be  caught  here." 

"I  don't  mean  to  be  caught  here.  Don't  worry — and 
get  a  move  on !" 

"What  are  you  intending  to  do?" 

"I  don't  know  yet.  Come,  Harry,  start  that  waggon  !" 

Darrel  shrugged  his  shoulders,  mounted  the  seat  be-» 
side  the  driver,  and  the  forest  waggon  rolled  away  into 
the  darkness. 

Guild  was  still  looking  after  it,  listening  to  Mich- 
aud's  report  of  the  sniping  affair  near  Trois  Fontaines, 
when  he  saw  the  figure  of  a  man  walking  back  from  the 
direction  the  waggon  had  taken.  The  man  walked  with 
a  visible  limp. 

283 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"You  idiot!"  said  Guild  sharply  as  Barrel  strolled 
up,  his  features  blandly  defiant. 

"Go  on  with  what  you  were  saying  to  Michaud,"  in 
sisted  Barrel,  unruffled  by  his  reception. 

"Come,  Harry — this  is  downright  damn  foolishness. 
If  you've  let  the  waggon  go  on,  you'll  have  to  foot  it 
to  Quellenheim.  You  can't  stay  here  1" 

"Why?" 

"Because,  you  infernal  butter-in,  you'll  get  mixed 
up  in  a  particularly  nasty  mess.  And  it  doesn't  con 
cern  Yankees,  this  mess  we're  in,  Michaud  and  I." 

"Oh  hell !"  said  Barrel ;  "go  on  and  talk,  Michaud !" 

"Are  you  going  to  poke  your  nose  into  this?"  de 
manded  Guild. 

"It's  in  now." 

"See  here,  Harry!  Your  sticking  by  me  is  gratui 
tously  silly  and  it  annoys  me.  You  don't  have  to. 
This  isn't  any  of  your  business,  this  mess." 

Barrel  lighted  a  cigarette  and  sat  down  on  the  ter 
race  steps.  Guild  glared  at  him. 

"Will  you  go  to  the  devil!"  he  snapped  out. 

"No,  I  won't." 

Michaud,  perplexed,  had  remained  silent. 

"If  things  go  wrong  they'll  make  a  clean  sweep  of 
us  all,  I  tell  you,"  said  Guild.  "Once  more,  Harry,  will 
you  mind  your  own  business?" 

"No,"  said  Barrel,  blandly. 

Guild  turned  to  Michaud:  "What  were  you  saying?" 

The  forester,  controlling  his  anger  and  emotion,  con 
tinued  the  story  of  the  sniper  near  Trois  Fontaines. 

284 


SNIPERS 


Then  he  outlined  the  miserable  affair  of  the  hill  pas 
ture. 

"There  remains  for  us  now  only  two  courses,"  he 
ended.  "Either  we  turn  franc-tireur  and  make  our 
bivouac  yonder  in  the  forest,  or  we  gather  our  people 
at  The  Pulpit,  lie  there  tonight,  and  at  daylight  strike 
out  for  the  Dutch  frontier." 

Guild  nodded. 

"There  is  a  little  hole  in  the  rocks  at  The  Pulpit — > 
scarce  large  enough  to  be  called  a  cave.  Since  the  war 
came  upon  us,  foreseeing  necessity,  my  men  have  car 
ried  arms  and  provisions  to  The  Pulpit — well  hidden, 
Monsieur.  I  think,  now,  that  it  is  a  better  refuge  than 
this  house." 

The  three  men  looked  up  at  the  house.  Michaud 
made  a  hopeless  gesture:  "I  suppose  ihey  will  destroy 
it,  now.  God  knows.  But  if  Monsieur  Paillard  be  truly 
dead  as  we  now  believe,  and  his  poor  body  lies  rotting 
under  the  ruins  of  Wiltz-la-Vallee,  then  there  is  nobody 
to  mourn  this  house  excepting  the  old  forester,  Mich 
aud.  .  .  .  And  I  think  he  has  lived  on  earth  too  long." 

He  went  slowly  toward  the  house,  entered  it.  One  by 
one  all  the  lighted  windows  grew  dark.  Presently  he 
reappeared  drawing  the  door-key  from  his  pocket.  Very 
deliberately  he  locked  the  door  from  the  outside,  looked 
in  silence  at  the  darkened  house,  and,  facing  it,  quietly 
removed  his  hat. 

The  silent  salute  lasted  but  a  moment ;  he  put  on  his 
grey  hat  with  the  pheasant's  feather  sticking  up  be 
hind,  picked  up  his  fowling-piece  and  hung  it  over  one 

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WHO  GOES  THERE! 


shoulder,  his  big,  weather-browned  hand  resting  on  the 
sling. 

"Eh  bien,  Messieurs?"  he  inquired  calmly. 

"Bring  in  your  men,  Michaud,"  said  Guild.  "I  know 
where  The  Pulpit  is,  but  I  couldn't  find  it  at  night.  I'll 
wait  at  the  carrefour  for  you."  And,  to  Barrel: 
"What  did  you  do  with  my  luggage?" 

"Sent  it  to  Quellenheim." 

"That  rucksack,  too?" 

"Yes." 

"Damnation,"  said  Guild  very  calmly ;  "it  had  papers 
in  it  which  are  enough  to  hang  anybody !" 

"You'd  better  go  and  get  it,  then." 

"I'll  have  to,  that's  all." 

They  walked  across  the  lawn  and  out  along  the  dark 
drive  in  silence.  Where  the  ride  crossed  at  the  carre 
four  they  halted.  There  was  a  dilapidated  shrine  there 
to  Our  Lady  of  Lesse.  They  seated  themselves  on  the 
stone  base. 

"Harry,"  said  Guild,  "how  long  do  you  intend  to 
follow  me  about  in  this  absurd  way?" 

"I'd  like  to  see  you  safe  across  the  Dutch  frontier." 

"Thanks,"  said  Guild  drily. 

"Don't  mention  it.  I  really  can  reconcile  myself  to 
your  having  your  bally  head  knocked  off  in  uniform 
but  this  sort  of  thing  seems  rather  ghastly." 

"It  is.  Won't  you  go  on  to  Quellenheim  to  oblige 
me?" 

"I'll  wait  till  tomorrow  morning,"  replied  Darrel 
pleasantly^ 

286 


SNIPERS 


Guild  was  silent.  They  sat  there  for  an  hour  or  more 
scarcely  exchanging  a  word.  Then  somebody  whistled, 
cautiously,  very  near  them,  and  another  carefully  mod 
ulated  whistle  answered. 

"Who  goes  there!"  came  a  challenging  voice. 

"Yslemont !" 

"Our  men,"  said  Guild,  rising. 

Michaud  came  up  in  the  darkness.  "The  shepherd, 
Jean  Pascal,  and  Schultz,  and  the  men  of  Yslemont  are 
out  there  yet.  Nothing  I  say  affects  them.  They  say 
that  they  need  another  Uhlan  to  bleed.  Imbeciles !" 

"Won't  they  obey  you?" 

"No,  by  God !  The  two  sheep  dogs  of  Jean  are  there, 
grave  and  wise  as  two  big-eared  devils  squatting.  And 
the  half-crazed  lad  is  teaching  them  to  track  Uhlans — 
making  them  sniff  the  bloody  schapskas  like  a  hunter 
who  trains  pups  with  a  dead  hare !" 

He  looked  around  at  the  dozen  shadowy  figures  gath 
ering  in  the  carrefour;  the  star-light  sparkled  on  guns 
and  belts  and  slings,  and  here  and  there  on  the  vizor 
of  a  casquette-de-chasse. 

"The  Grey  Wolves,"  said  Michaud,  "can  never  find 
us  in  The  Pulpit.  If  Monsieur  is  ready  ?" 

"Quite  ready,"  said  Guild.  And  the  shadowy  file, 
led  by  Michaud,  moved  straight  into  the  woods. 


CHAPTER   XXII 

DRIVEN  GAME 

THE  stars  had  faded;  a  watery  grey  light  glim 
mered  through  the  forest.  Deer  crossed  the 
grassy  carrcfour  by  the  shrine,  picking  a 
dainty  way  toward  forest  depths ;  rabbits  hopped  home 
ward  through  dew-drenched  ferns  and  bracken ;  a  cock- 
pheasant  saluted  the  dawn ;  the  last  wild  boar  still  lin 
gered  amid  the  beech  mast,  rooting,  coughing,  follow 
ing  the  furrows  that  his  bristly  snout  was  making  while 
his  furry  bat-like  ears,  cocked  forward,  remained  on 
duty,  and  his  tail  wriggled  pleasurably. 

The  silent  watchers  aloft  behind  the  rocky  escarpe- 
ment  of  The  Pulpit,  looking  down  through  leafy 
branches  to  the  carrefour,  saw  the  last  little  roedeer 
trot  past  on  his  fastidious  way ;  saw  the  last  rabbit  van 
ish  in  the  warren ;  saw  the  lone  boar  lift  his  huge  and 
shaggy  head  to  listen  with  piggish  suspicion,  then  turn 
and  go,  silent  as  some  monstrous  spectre. 

From  under  hazel  bushes  pheasants  stepped  out  to 
ruffle  and  preen  and  peck  pensively  among  the  fallen 
leaves,  awaiting  the  promise  of  the  sun,  their  white  col 
lars  gleamed  below  their  gorgeous  heads;  the  sombre 

288 


DRIVEN   GAME 


splendour  of  their  plumage  made  brilliant  spots  along 
the  ride.  Here  and  there  a  hen-pheasant  crept  modestly 
about  the  business  of  breakfast.  A  blue  and  rosy  jay 
alighted  near,  sign  that  the  forest  peace  promised  to 
endure. 

After  a  long  while  far  in  the  west  the  grey  was 
touched  with  rose.  Darrel,  lying  beside  Guild,  chin  on 
his  folded  arms,  stirred  slightly. 

"Sunrise,"  he  said. 

Michaud,  on  the  other  side,  reared  himself  on  his 
hands  and  lay  watching  the  west. 

"It  is  too  early  for  the  sun,"  he  said.  "That  is  a 
fire." 

Pinker,  ruddier,  redder  grew  the  western  sky.  Silent, 
intent,  forester,  garde-de-chasse,  charcoal  burner, 
strained  their  keen  eyes. 

Then  a  heavy  sigh  like  a  groan  escaped  Michaud. 

"The  Lodge,"  he  said,  hoarsely,  under  his  breath. 
"Oh  God,  my  master's  home." 

All  around  among  the  rocks  men  were  drawing  deep 
breaths,  muttering,  restless ;  their  eyes  were  fixed  like 
the  eyes  of  caged  wild  things. 

"The  Grey  Wolves,"  growled  an  old  garde — "Ah, 
the  cowards — the  dirty  Prussian  whelps  !  Ah !  Look  at 
that;  my  God!  Marie  adored,  Virgin  of  Lesse;  stand 
by  us  now!" 

Against  the  sky  specks  like  tinsel  twinkled ;  smoke 
became  visible. 

"House,  stables,  granneries,  quarters,  garage,  all 
are  on  fire,"  said  Michaud  in  a  mechanical  voice.  His 

289 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


face  was  grey  and  without  expression,  his  words  ac- 
centless. 

The  smoke  appeared  further  north. 

"The  cattle-barns  and  the  hay-stacks,"  he  went  on 
monotonously.  .  .  .  Beyond  are  the  green-houses,  runs, 
dove-cotes,  and  our  little  shop.  .  .  .  They  are  now 
afire  .  .  .  Everything  is  on  fire.  Lesse  is  burning, 
burning.  .  .  .  The  stubble  beyond  is  burning.  .  .  . 
And  beyond  that  the  nursery  acres — the  seedlings  and 
the — Marie  adored,  Virgin  of  Lesse,  have  pity  on  my 
little  trees — my  nurslings — my  darlings " 

"Hark!"  whispered  Guild.  Far  away  up  the  ride 
horses  were  coming  at  a  heavy  trot;  and  now  the  noise 
of  wheels  became  audible.  And  now  below  them  two 
German  dragoons  cantered  into  view,  carbines  poised; 
a  waggon  passed — a  strange  grey  vehicle  driven  by  a 
grey-clad  soldier  wearing  a  vizorless  forage  cap.  It 
was  piled  with  dead  pigeons  and  chickens.  Behind  that 
another  waggon  followed,  all  splashed  with  blood,  and 
in  it  swayed  and  jolted  the  carcasses  of  dead  pigs  freshly 
killed,  lurching  and  slipping  over  the  crimsoned  straw. 
Behind  galloped  six  Uhlans,  their  lances  perpendicular 
in  the  buckets,  the  cords  from  their  cloth-covered 
schapskas  bellying  behind. 

"Not  a  shot!"  said  Michaud  in  a  perfectly  distinct 
voice,  pushing  up  the  rifle  of  the  old  garde-de-chasse. 
"There  is  nothing  to  do  now,  nom  de  Dieu! — for  the 
necks  of  our  fowls  are  already  wrung  and  the  dead  hogs 
are  tasting  their  own  boudin.  Our  affair  is  with  the 
living  pigs." 

290 


DRIVEN   GAME 


After  a  few  moments  more  dragoons  came,  trotting 
their  superb  horses  along  the  ride,  alertly  scanning  the 
woods  to  right  and  left  as  they  passed,  their  carbines 
at  a  ready. 

Waggons  followed — hay  waggons,  carts  loaded  with 
potato  sacks,  straw,  apples,  bags  of  flour,  even  fire 
wood  and  bundles  of  faggots — a  dozen  vehicles  or  more 
of  every  description. 

"Ours,"  said  Michaud  in  his  emotionless  tones. 
"What  they  could  not  take  is  burning  yonder." 

More  grey  dragoons  closed  the  file  of  waggons,  then 
a  dozen  Uhlans,  who  turned  frequently  in  their  saddles 
and  kept  looking  back. 

"Scoundrels !"  muttered  the  garde-de-chasse,  laying 
his  rifle  level ;  but  Michaud  turned  on  him  and  struck 
up  the  weapon. 

"Thou!"  he  said  coldly— "do  thy  duty  when  I  tell 
thee,  or  I  become  angry." 

Somebody  said:  "There  are  no  more.  We  have  not 
bled  one  single  wolf!" 

"Look  yonder,"  whispered  Guild. 

Out  into  the  carrefour  stepped  briskly  eight  or  ten 
German  officers,  smart  and  elegant  and  trim  in  their  sea- 
grey  uniforms  and  their  spiked  helmets  shrouded  with 
grey  so  that  there  was  not  a  glitter  from  point  to  spur. 

A  dozen  non-commissioned  officers  followed,  carrying 
two  military  rifles  apiece. 

The  officers  looked  curiously  at  the  shrine  of  Our 
Lady  of  Lesse,  and  the  sad-faced  Virgin  looked  back 
at  them  out  of  her  carven  and  sightless  eyes. 

291 


WHO   GOES  THERE' 


One  by  one  the  officers  took  posts  at  the  four  corners 
of  the  grassy  clearing  or  on  the  steps  of  the  shrine. 
They  were  laughing  and  conversing;  some  smoked; 
some  inspected  the  rifles  brought  up  by  their  non-com 
gun-bearers.  The  sun  had  not  yet  risen;  the  silvery 
smoke  of  the  Silverwiltz  marked  its  high  waterfall  below 
the  gorge  of  the  glen;  fern  fronds  drooped  wet  to  the 
wet  dead  leaves  beneath,  matted  grasses  glistened  pow 
dered  with  dew. 

In  the  still  grey  air  of  morning  the  smoke  from  the 
German  officers'  pipes  and  cigars  rose  upward  in 
straight  thin  bands;  a  jeweled  bracelet  on  the  wrist  of 
an  infantry  major  reflected  light  like  a  frost  crystal. 

The  officers  ceased  their  careless  conversation;  one 
by  one  they  became  quiet,  almost  motionless  where  they 
had  taken  their  several  positions.  Behind  them,  stiff 
and  erect,  the  non-coms  stood  with  the  spare  guns,  rifles 
or  fowling-pieces. 

An  air  of  silent  expectancy  settled  over  the  carre- 
four;  officer  and  non-com  were  waiting  for  something. 

Michaud  had  already  divined ;  Guild  knew ;  so  did 
Barrel.  Every  woodsman  in  The  Pulpit  knew.  Some 
of  them  were  trembling  like  leashed  dogs. 

Then  in  the  forest  a  sound  became  audible  like  a  far 
halloo.  Distant  answers  came  through  the  woodland 
silence,  from  north,  from  south — then  from  west  and 
east.  «• 

Guild  whispered  to  Barrel:  "They  are  driving  the 
forest !  They  have  a  regiment  out  to  beat  it !" 

The  German  officers  at  their  stands  no  longer  moved 

292 


DRIVEN   GAME 


as  much  as  a  finger.     Against  the  grey  trees  they  were 
all  but  invisible. 

Suddenly  out  into  the  carrefour  stepped  a  superb 
red  stag,  ears  alert,  beautiful  head  half  turned  at  gaze. 
Instantly  a  rifle  spoke ;  and  the  magnificent  creature 
was  down  in  the  ride,  scuffling,  scrambling,  only  to  fall 
and  lie  panting  with  its  long  neck  lifted  a  little. 

Crack !    The  antlered  head  fell. 

Then  out  of  the  wood  trotted  three  bewildered  pigs — 
an  old  boar,  a  yearling  on  which  the  stripes  were  still 
visible,  and  a  huge  fierce  sow.  A  ripple  of  rifle  shots 
checked  them;  the  old  boar  stood  swinging  his  great 
furry  head  right  and  left;  the  yearling  was  down, 
twitching; ;  the  sow  ran,  screaming  horribly.  Two  shots 
followed ;  the  old  boar  kneeled  down  very  quietly  like  a 
trick-horse  in  a  circus,  still  facing  his  enemies.  He 
did  not  look  as  though  he  were  dead. 

The  yearling  had  ceased  its  twitching;  the  sow  was 
down,  too,  a  great  lump  of  coarse  black  fur  in  the  ditch. 

Then  the  rifles  began  again ;  a  company  of  little  roe 
deer  whirled  into  the  ride  and  went  down  or  stumbled 
with  delicate  limbs  dangling  broken,  or  leaped  to  a 
height  incredible  in  the  agony  of  a  death  wound. 

Pell-mell  after  them  galloped  a  whole  herd  of  red 
deer ;  the  German  rifles  rattled  steadily.  Now  and  then 
blasts  from  fowling-pieces  dropped  running  or  incom 
ing  pheasants,  cock  and  hen  alike ;  or  crumpled  up  some 
twisting  rabbit  or  knocked  a  great  hare  head  over  heels. 

Faster  and  faster  came  the  terrified  wild  things,  stag, 
roe,  boar,  and  hare ;  steadily  the  German  rifles  cracked 

293 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


and  rattled  out  death;  thicker  and  swifter  pelted  the 
meteor  flight  of  pheasants  ;  birds  of  all  sorts  came  driving 
headlong  in  their  flight ;  big  drab-tinted  wood-pigeons,  a 
wild  duck  or  two,  widgeon  and  mallard ;  now  and  then  a 
woodcock  fluttered  past  like  some  soft  brown  bat  beat 
ing  the  air;  now  and  then  a  coq-de-la-bruyere,  plan 
ing  on  huge  bowed  wings  above  collapsed  and  fell  heav 
ily  to  the  loose  roar  of  the  fowling-pieces. 

Crippled,  mutilated  creatures  were  heaped  along  the 
ride;  over  them  leaped  their  panic-stricken  comrades 
only  to  stumble  in  the  rifle-fire  and  lie  struggling  or 
inert. 

A  veil  of  smoky  haze  made  the  carrefour  greyer  now, 
through  which  at  intervals  a  dying  stag  lifted  its  long 
neck  from  the  shambles  about  him  or  some  strong 
feathered  thing  beat  its  broken  wings  impotently  upon 
the  grass. 

Once  a  great  boar  charged,  and  was  shot  to  pieces, 
spattering  the  steps  of  the  shrine  with  blood.  Once  a 
wounded  hare  dragged  its  tortured  body  to  the  shrine, 
as  though  for  sanctuary.  A  non-com  swung  it  crashing 
against  the  granite  cross. 

And  now  a  more  sinister  thing  occurred.  Out  from 
the  forest,  amid  the  stampeding  game,  reeled  a  man! 
His  blue  smock  hung  in  ribbons ;  one  bleeding  fist 
grasped  a  rifle ;  the  cartridges  en  bandouliere  glittered. 

For  a  second  he  stood  there,  swaying,  panting,  be 
wildered  in  the  smoke  haze;  then  three  non-coms  fired 
at  him  at  once. 

[At  that  he  straightened  up,  stood  so  for  a  second  as 

294 


DRIVEN   GAME 


though  listening,  then  he  took  one  uncertain  step  and 
pitched  into  a  patch  of  briers  on  his  face. 

Presently  some  German  foot-soldiers  appeared  in  the 
ride,  moving  cautiously,  scanning  every  ditch,  every 
hollow,  every  thicket,  their  rifles  poised  for  a  snap-shot. 
A  roebuck  floundered  up  and  went  off  before  them  like 
the  wind,  unnoticed.  Then  one  of  the  soldiers  fired, 
and  a  boy  jumped  out  from  behind  a  hazel  bush  and 
started  to  run  along  the  edge  of  the  woods.  He  was 
followed  by  two  sheep  dogs. 

"Jean  Pascal!"  said  Michaud  calmly.  "May  God 
pardon  him  now." 

As  the  little  shepherd  ran,  the  soldiers  stood  and 
fired  at  him,  aiming  carefully.  They  broke  his  leg  as 
he  passed  the  carrefour.  The  lad  raised  himself  from 
the  ground  to  a  sitting  position  and  was  sobbing  bit 
terly,  when  they  shot  him  again.  That  time  he  fell 
over  on  his  side,  his  hands  still  covering  his  dead 
and  tear-wet  face.  His  dogs  trotted  around  him, 
nuzzling  him  and  licking  his  hands.  An  officer  shot 
them  both. 

Schultz  broke  cover  in  a  few  moments,  his  rifle  at 
his  cheek;  and,  dropping  to  one  knee  in  the  ride,  he 
coolly  opened  fire  on  the  officers  by  the  shrine.  But 
he  had  time  only  for  a  single  shot  which  jerked  a  spiked 
helmet  from  a  cavalry  ma j  or's  clipped  head.  Then  they 
knocked  him  flat. 

As  the  herdsman  lay  gasping  in  the  roadway  with 
a  bullet  in  his  stomach,  looking  with  dull  and  glazing 
eyes  at  the  rifle  flashes,  three  men  from  Yslemont — • 

295 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


blackened,  haggard,  ragged  creatures — burst  out,  fight 
ing  like  wildcats  with  the  beaters  behind  them. 

Two  were  bayoneted  and  clubbed  to  death  in  the 
briers;  the  last  man  ran  like  a  crazed  hare,  doubling, 
dodging,  twisting  among  the  trees  where  the  rifle  hail 
filled  the  air  with  twigs  and  splinters  and  tattered  leaves. 

After  him  lumbered  a  dozen  foot-soldiers,  clumping 
along  in  their  hob-nailed  ammunition  boots.  Then,  high 
above  on  The  Pulpit,  Guild  spoke  sharply  to  Michaud, 
who  gave  a  jerk  to  his  wThite  head  and  made  a  little 
gesture  to  the  others  behind  him. 

"Now,"  added  Guild  in  a  low  voice. 

"Fire,"  said  Michaud  calmly. 

The  rocky  glen  roared  with  the  volley.  The  foot- 
soldiers  below  halted  in  astonishment  and  looked  up. 
One  fell  sideways  against  a  tree ;  another  dropped  to  his 
knees  and  remained  motionless,  the  spike  of  his  helmet 
buried  deep  in  the  soft  earth. 

They  were  shouting  down  by  the  carrefour  now; 
clear,  mellow  whistle  signals  sounded  persistently. 
Horses  were  coming,  too;  the  ride  reverberated  with 
their  galloping.  And  all  the  while  The  Pulpit  resounded 
with  the  rifle-fire  of  its  little  garrison,  and  soldiers  were 
dropping  along  the  carrefour  and  the  ride. 

"Pigs  of  Prussians !"  shouted  the  old  garde-de- 
chasse ;  "does  a  Belgian  game-drive  suit  you  now !  Ah, 
scoundrels,  bandits,  sound  the  Mort  on  your  imbecile 
whistles.  For  the  swine  of  the  North  are  dying  fast!" 

"Be  silent,"  said  Michaud  coldly.  "You  tarnish  your 
own  courage!" 

296 


"The  Pulpit  resounded  with  the  rifle-fire  of  its  little  garrison 


DRIFEN   GAME 


Guild  and  Barrel  had  taken  rifles ;  they  stood  firing 
down  at  the  carrefour  where  the  horses  of  the  Uhlan 
advanced  guard  were  plunging  about  in  disorder  under 
a  confusion  of  lances  and  fluttering  pennons. 

But  the  confusion  lasted  only  a  few  moments ;  horse 
men  whirled  their  mounts  and  cleared  out  at  full  speed ; 
the  carrefour  was  empty  of  officers  now;  not  a  German 
was  visible  in  the  early  sunshine,  only  the  steady  clatter 
of  their  rifle-fire  continued  to  pelt  the  heights  where 
bullets  cracked  and  smacked  on  the  rocks. 

"Enough,"  said  Michaud  quietly.  "It  is  time  to 
leave.  Andre,  bring  thou  a  bar  to  me." 

A  charcoal  burner  ran  to  the  hole  in  the  rocks  and 
drew  out  a  crowbar.  Michaud  took  it,  shoved  it  under 
the  edge  of  the  ledge,  found  a  fulcrum,  motioned  the 
men  back. 

Two  other  men  threw  their  weight  on  the  bar;  the 
ledge  lifted  easily.  Suddenly  the  entire  parapet  gave 
way,  crashing  like  an  avalanche  into  the  glen  below. 

"They  shall  need  wings  who  follow  us,"  said  the  old 
man  grimly.  "Monsieur,"  turning  calmly  to  Guild, 
"if  we  cross  the  Dutch  border  unarmed,  will  they  in 
terne  us?" 

"No,  I  think  not." 

"And  from  there  we  may  be  free  to  find  our  way  to 
the  colours?" 

"Yes." 

"By  sea?" 

"By  land  and  sea  to  Dunkirk.  I  know  of  no  easier 
or  quicker  way." 

297 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Monsieur  goes  with  us?" 

"First  I  must  stop  at  Quellenheim."  He  added,  in  a 
low  voice:  "By  mistake  my  papers  were  sent  there  last 
night.  Our  King  must  see  those  papers." 

"Bien,"  said  Michaud.  "We  bivouac  near  Quellen 
heim  tonight — time  for  a  crust,  Monsieur,  while  you 
go  to  the  house  and  return.  Is  it  agreeable  to  Mon 
sieur  ?" 

"Perfectly."  And,  to  Barrel:  "Take  your  chance 
while  it  remains  and  join  the  Courlands  when  they  leave 
Quellenheim.  Will  you  promise?" 

"I'll  see,"  said  Barrel,  carelessly  tossing  his  rifle 
across  his  shoulder  and  stepping  into  the  silent  file  of 
men  which  was  already  starting  across  the  ridge. 


CHAPTER    XXIII 

CANDLE    LIGHT 

IT  was  nearly  eleven  o'clock  at  night  before  they 
bivouacked  without  fires  in  the  woods  behind  the 
Lodge  at  Quellenheim. 

The  circuitous  forest  route  had  wearied  the  men ;  they 
threw  themselves  on  the  dead  leaves  and  moss;  some 
slept  where  they  lay,  others  groped  in  sacks  with  toil- 
stiffened  fingers  searching  for  crusts,  which  they 
munched  slowly,  half  asleep. 

Guild  drew  Barrel  and  Michaud  aside. 

"To  go  by  Luxembourg  and  Holland  is  too  long  and 
too  uncertain,"  he  said.  "If  we  could  cross  the  railway 
beyond  Trois  Fontaines  before  daylight  we  should  have 
a  clear  country  before  us  to  Antwerp." 

It  had  been  days  since  the  household  at  Lesse  had 
heard  any  war  news,  but  Darrel  recollected  that  there 
had  been  rumours  of  a  German  drive  toward  Antwerp. 

Michaud  nodded.  "It  is  possible,"  he  said.  "Brus 
sels  they  may  have  taken;  I  don't  know;  but  Ant 
werp,  never!  I  know.  Monsieur;  I  served  my  time 
with  the  artillery  in  the  Scheldt  forts.  No  German 
army  could  pass  the  outer  ring  of  fortresses ;  the  coun- 

299 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


try  can  be  flooded.  Also  our  King  is  there  with  his 
Guides  and  Lancers  and  Chasseurs-a-cheval ;  the  entire 
army  is  there.  No,  Monsieur,  Antwerp  is  open  to  us  if 
you  desire  to  take  us  there." 

"I  do,"  said  Guild.  "It  is  the  better  way  for  all  of 
us  if  the  country  still  remains  clear.  It  is  better  for  us 
than  to  engage  in  a  Chasse  aux  Uhlans.  If  I  could  lead 
a  dozen  sturdy  recruits  into  Antwerp  it  would  be  worth 
while.  And,  except  for  the  post  at  Trois  Fontaines  and 
the  troops  patrolling  the  railway,  I  can  not  see  why  the 
country  is  not  open  to  us  north  of  Liege." 

"I  know  this  country.  It  is  my  country,"  said  Mi- 
chaud,  "and  troops  or  no  troops  I  can  take  you  across 
the  railroad  before  daylight."  He  shrugged  his  massive 
shoulders:  "What  is  a  Prussian  patrol  to  a  head  for 
ester?" 

"You  believe  you  can  do  it?" 

"I  pledge  my  honour,  Monsieur." 

Guild  looked  at  Darrel :  "I  wish  I  knew  whether  there 
has  been  a  drive  toward  Antwerp.  If  there  has  been  it 
must  have  come  from  the  sea  by  Ostend.  But  I  do  not 
believe  Ostend  has  been  taken."  He  turned  to  Michaud : 
"If  the  country  is  clear,  why  could  we  not  pick  up  more 
men  en  route?  Why  should  we  not  recruit  in  every 
hamlet,  every  village?" 

"Mon  Dieu,  Monsieur,  if  there  are  hardy  compan 
ions  willing  to  go  with  the  ragged  men  of  the  forest, 
well  and  good.  Yet  I  could  wish  for  at  least  one  uni 
form  among  us.  That  represents  authority  and  gives 
security." 

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CANDLE   LIGHT 


Guild  said  thoughtfully :  "I  have  an  officer's  uni 
form  of  the  Guides  among  my  luggage." 

"Lord!"  exclaimed  Barrel,  "you  brought  it  with 
you?" 

"There  was  to  have  been  a  regimental  dinner  in  Brus 
sels  in  September.  I  was  asked  last  June,  and  they  re 
quested  me  to  wear  uniform.  I  had  my  uniform,  so 
I  packed  it." 

"Then  it  is  there  in  your  luggage  at  Quellenheim !" 

"Yes." 

"Well,"  said  Barrel  heartily,  "I'm  devilish  glad  of  it. 
If  they  catch  you  in  uniform  they  can't  court-martial 
you  with  a  jerk  of  their  thumbs." 

"I'm  not  worrying  about  that,"  said  Guild  carelessly, 
"but,"  looking  at  Michaud,  "if  you  think  a  reserve 
officer  in  uniform  is  likely  to  encourage  recruiting,  I 
certainly  shall  use  my  uniform.  You  know  your  own 
people  better  than  I  do.  I  leave  it  to  you,  Michaud." 

"Then,  Monsieur,  wear  your  uniform.  It  means 
everything  to  us  all ;  we  honour  and  respect  it ;  it  repre 
sents  authority ;  better  still,  it  reassures  our  people.  If 
an  officer  of  the  Guides  is  seen  in  charge  of  a  batch 
of  recruits,  no  young  man,  whose  class  has  been  sum 
moned  to  the  colours,  would  entertain  any  misgivings. 
Nor  dare  anybody  hang  back!  Our  women  would  jeer 
and  ridicule  them." 

"Very  well,"  said  Guild.  "Now  take  me  as  far  as  the 
wood's  edge  where  I  can  see  the  house  at  Quellenheim. 
Wait  for  me  there  and  guide  me  back  here,  for  I  never 
could  find  this  dark  bivouac  alone." 

301 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Follow,  Monsieur,"  said  the  old  man  simply. 

In  single  file  the  three  men  moved  forward  through 
the  darkness,  Michaud  leading  without  hesitation,  Guild 
following  close,  and  Darrel  bringing  up  the  rear. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  bluish  lustre  of  the  stars  broke 
through  the  forest's  edge.  An  overgrown  ride  ran 
westward;  beyond,  the  highway  from  Trois  Fontaines 
bisected  it ;  and  out  of  this  curved  the  Lodge  road. 

It  was  dark  and  deserted;  and  when  Guild  came  in 
sight  of  the  Lodge,  that,  too,  was  dark. 

Up  the  long  avenue  he  hastened  to  the  house ;  the 
fountain  splashed  monotonously  in  the  star-light;  the 
circle  of  tall  trees  looked  down  mournfully ;  the  high 
planets  twinkled. 

He  walked  around  the  house,  hoping  to  find  a  light 
in  the  kitchen.  All  was  black,  silent,  and  wrapped  in 
profoundest  shadow. 

He  picked  up  a  few  pebbles  from  the  driveway, 
counted  the  windows  until  he  was  certain  which  one 
was  Karen's.  Her  window  was  open.  He  tossed  a 
pebble  against  it;  and  then  another  into  the  room 
itself. 

Suddenly  the  girl  appeared  at  the  window. 

"Karen!"  he  called.  She  leaned  out  swiftly,  her 
braided  hair  falling  to  the  sill. 

"Kervyn !"  she  whispered. 

"Dear,  I've  only  a  moment.  Could  you  come  down 
and  let  me  in  without  waking  the  others?" 

"The  others?     Kervyn,  they  have  gone!" 

"Gone!" 

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CANDLE   LIGHT 


"Everybody's  gone!  A  patrol  of  hussars  galloped 
here  from  Trois  Fontaines  and  ordered  them  across  the 
Dutch  frontier.  I  felt  dreadfully;  but  there  was  noth 
ing  to  do.  So  poor  Mrs.  Courland  and  her  daughter 
and  her  servants  have  gone  on  toward  Luxembourg  with 
all  their  luggage.  I'm  here  alone  with  the  Frau  Forster. 
Shall  I  let  you  in?" 

"Did  my  luggage  go  to  Luxembourg?" 

"No ;  it  is  in  the  room  you  occupied." 

"Then  come  down  quickly  and  let  .me  in,"  he  said. 
"If  there  are  German  patrols  abroad  I  don't  care  to  be 
caught  here." 

The  girl  disappeared ;  Guild  went  to  the  front  door 
and  stood  looking  down  the  driveway  and  listening  to 
catch  any  warning  sound. 

The  next  moment  the  door  behind  him  opened  and 
Karen's  trembling  hands  were  in  his. 

He  gazed  down  into  the  pale  face  framed  by  its  heavy 
braids.  In  her  slim  nightdress  and  silken  chamber  robe 
she  appeared  very  girlish. 

"What  has  happened,  Kervyn?  Your  clothes  are 
torn  and  muddy  and  you  look  dreadfully  white  and 
tired." 

"Karen,  they  burned  Lesse  this  morning." 

"Oh!"  she  gasped. 

"Everything  at  Lesse  is  in  ashes.  Some  of  the  men 
are  dead.  The  survivors  are  in  the  woods  behind  your 
house  waiting  for  me." 

She  clung  to  his  arm  as  they  entered  the  house ;  Guild 
picked  up  one  of  the  lighted  candles  from  the  oak  table. 

303 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


She  took  the  other  and  they  ascended  the  stairs  to 
gether. 

"There  was  sniping,"  he  said.  "That  always  brings 
punishment  to  innocent  and  guilty  alike.  Lesse  is  a 
heap  of  cinders ;  they  drove  the  forest  and  shot  the 
driven  game  from  the  steps  of  the  carrefour  shrine. 
Men  fell  there,  too,  under  their  rifles — the  herdsman, 
Schultz,  the  Yslemont  men,  the  little  shepherd  lad  with 
both  his  dogs.  When  their  bearers  came  our  way  we 
fired  on  them." 

"You!  Oh,  Kervyn!  It  means  death  if  they  find 
you!" 

"I  shall  not  be  found."  He  took  her  by  the  hands  a 
moment,  smiled  at  her,  then  turned  swiftly  and  entered 
his  room  holding  the  candle  above  his  head. 

After  his  door  had  remained  closed  for  a  few  mo 
ments  she  knocked. 

"Kervyn,"  she  called,  "I  am  frightened  and  I  am 
going  to  dress." 

"No  need  of  that,"  came  his  voice ;  "I  shall  be  gone 
in  five  minutes." 

But  she  went  away  with  her  lighted  candle  and 
entered  her  room.  The  travelling  gown  she  wore  from 
England  lay  ready ;  boots,  spats,  and  waist. 

Swiftly  she  unbraided  and  shook  out  her  hair  and 
twisted  it  up  again,  her  slim  fingers  flying.  A  sense 
of  impending  danger  seized  and  possessed  her;  almost 
feverishly  she  flung  from  her  the  frail  night  garments 
she  wore,  and  dressed  with  ever-increasing  fear  of  some 
thing  indefinitely  menacing  but  instant.  What  it  might 

304 


CANDLE   LIGHT 


be  she  did  not  even  try  to  formulate  in  thought ;  but  it 
frightened  her,  and  it  seemed  very,  very  near. 

She  dragged  on  her  brown  velvet  hat  and  pinned  it, 
and  at  the  same  moment  she  heard  a  sound  in  the  hall 
way  which  almost  stopped  her  heart. 

It  was  the  ringing  step  of  a  spurred  boot. 

Terrified,  she  crept  to  her  door,  listened,  opened  a 
little  way.  Near  the  stair-head  a  candle  shone,  its  yel 
low  light  glimmering  on  the  wall  of  the  passage.  Then 
she  heard  Guild's  guarded  voice: 

"Karen?" 

"Y-yes,"  she  faltered  in  amazement  as  a  tall  figure 
turned  toward  her  clothed  in  the  complete  uniform  of 
the  Guides. 

"Kervyn!  Is  it  you?  Why  are  you  in  that  uni 
form?"  She  came  toward  him  slowly,  her  knees  still 
tremulous  from  fear,  and  rested  one  hand  on  his  arm. 

"Dearest,  dearest,"  he  said  gently,  "why  are  you 
trembling?  There  is  no  reason  for  fear.  I  am  in  uni 
form  because  I  shall  attempt  to  take  a  few  recruits  and 
volunteers  across  the  railway  line  tonight.  We  are 
going  to  try  to  make  Antwerp,  which  is  a  quicker,  and 
I  think  a  surer,  route  than  through  Luxembourg  and 
Holland.  Besides,  they  might  interne  us.  They  would 
without  a  doubt  if  I  were  in  uniform  and  if  the  Lesse 
men  came  to  the  frontier  with  their  guns  and  bandou- 
lieres." 

"Kervyn,  how  can  you  get  to  Antwerp?  You  can't 
,  dear!" 

" We'll  start  on  foot,  anyway,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

SOS 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Now  I  must  go.  They're  waiting.  Why  did  you  dress, 
Karen?" 

"I  don't  know."  She  looked  up  at  him  in  a  dazed 
way.  "I  wanted  to  be  with  you." 

"I'm  going  back  to  the  forest,  dear." 

"Could  I  come?" 

"No.  I  don't  want  you  to  be  out  at  night.  There's 
only  a  fireless  camp  there  and  a  dozen  ragged  and  dirty 
men.  Besides,  there  might  be  some  sort  of  trouble." 

"Trouble?" 

"Not  likely.  Still  there  might  be  patrols  out  from 
Trois  Fontaines,  even  from  Lesse.  I  don't  know.  Mi- 
chaud  says  he  can  take  us  across  the  railway  line  before 
daylight.  If  he  can  do  that  I  think  we  shall  find  the 
country  clear  beyond.  Anyway,  we'll  know  soon. 
Now  I  must  say  good-bye." 

She  laid  her  cold  hands  in  his,  tried  to  speak,  bub 
could  not.  Then,  of  a  sudden,  her  fingers  gripped  his 
in  terror ;  there  came  the  rushing  swish  of  an  automobile 
around  the  gravel  circle  outside,  a  loud  resonant  hum 
ming,  a  sharp  voice  speaking  in  German,  a  quick  reply 
in  the  same  tongue. 

"The — the  valet's  room.  Quick!"  she  gasped,  push 
ing  him  backward  across  the  room  and  through  the 
doorway.  Behind  him  the  swinging  leather  door  closed 
silently  again ;  the  girl  stood  rigid,  white  as  a  sheet,  then 
she  walked  to  the  oak  table,  picked  up  a  book,  and 
dropped  into  the  depths  of  a  leather  arm-chair. 

Outside  the  mellow  whirr  of  the  motor  had  ceased; 
the  door  of  the  car  closed  with  a  click ;  quick,  firm  steps 

306 


CANDLE   LIGHT 


ascended  the  path;  there  came  a  low  jingling  sound, 
the  clash  of  metal,  then  a  key  was  rattled  in  the  outer 
lock,  turned  sharply,  and  the  door  creaked  open. 

Karen  rose  to  her  feet.  Every  atom  of  colour  had 
fled  her  cheeks. 

"Karen !" 

"You?"  she  said  in  a  ghost  of  her  own  voice. 

Kurt  von  Reiter  seemed  astonished.  He  came  for 
ward  very  quickly,  a  tall,  thin,  faultless  figure  moulded 
perfectly  into  his  tight  sea-grey  uniform.  Bending 
only  a  very  little  from  the  waist  as  though  too  tightly 
buttoned  in,  he  bowed  above  the  icy  hand  she  extended, 
paid  his  respects  with  flawless  courtesy,  straightened 
up,  placed  his  shrouded  spiked  helmet  on  the  table. 

"I  had  scarcely  expected  to  find  you  awake,"  he  said. 
"It  is  after  two  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

She  made  a  supreme  effort  at  self-control. 

"I  have  been  a  trifle  nervous,  Kurt.  There  was  trouble 
at  Lesse  Forest  last  evening." 

"Yes.     Who  told  you?" 

"I  was  there." 

"At  Lesse!" 

"Yes,  a  guest  of  Mrs.  Courland — an  American  lady." 

"I  know  about  her.     She  is  a  friend  of  Mr.  Guild." 

Karen  nodded ;  a  painful  and  fixed  smile  quivered  in 
her  colourless  lips. 

"Was  Mr.   Guild  there  also?"  inquired  von  Reiter. 

"Yes." 

"He  left  with  the  others,  I  suppose." 

She  said:    "Everybody  was   in   a  panic.      I  invited 

307 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


them  to  come  here,  but  a  patrol  from  Trois  Fontaines 
galloped  up  and  ordered  them  to  go  through  Luxem 
bourg — across  the  Dutch  frontier.  It  seemed  very 
harsh." 

The  girl  had  seated  herself  again ;  von  Reiter  drew 
up  a  chair  beside  the  table  opposite  her  and  sat  down. 
Candle  light  played  over  his  dry,  sandy-blond  face  and 
set  his  blue  eyes  glittering. 

"Are  you  well,  Karen?" 

"Quite,  thank  you.    And  you?" 

"God  be  thanked,  in  perfect  health."  He  did  not 
mention  three  broken  ribs  still  bandaged  and  which  had 
interfered  with  the  perfectly  ceremonious  bow  of  a  Ger 
man  officer. 

He  said:  "I  took  this  opportunity  to  come.  It  was 
my  first  chance  to  see  you.  Been  travelling  since  noon." 

"You — remain  tonight  ?" 

"I  can  not.  I  came  for  one  reason  only.  You  know 
what  it  is,  Karen." 

She  did  not  answer. 

He  waited  a  moment,  looked  absently  around  the 
room,  glanced  up  at  the  stag's  antlers,  then  his  gaze 
returned  to  her. 

"Were  you  much  frightened  by  what  happened  at 
Lesse?"  he  asked.  "You  do  not  look  well." 

"I  am  well." 

"Did  you  experience  any  trouble  in  leaving  Eng 
land?" 

"Yes,  some." 

"And  Mr.  Guild?    Was  he— useful?" 

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CANDLE   LIGHT 


"Yes." 

Von  Reiter  gazed  at  the  girl  thoughtfully.  One  elbow 
rested  on  the  table  corner,  the  clenched  fist  supporting 
his  chin.  In  the  other  hand  he  continued  to  crumple 
his  gloves  between  lean,  powerful,  immaculate  fingers. 

"Karen,"  he  said,  "did  you  bring  with  you  whatever 
papers  you  happened  to  possess  at  the  time?" 

After  a  moment  the  girl  answered  in  a  low  voice: 
"No." 

"Did  you  destroy  them?" 

"No." 

"What  became  of  them?"  he  insisted.  A  mottled 
flush  gathered  on  his  cheek-bones ;  after  a  few  seconds 
the  carefully  scrubbed  features  of  the  man  grew  pink. 

"What  papers  had  you?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  up  at  him  in  silence  and  a  deeper  colour 
stained  his  face  so  that  in  contrast  his  pale  mustache, 
en  croc,  and  his  clipped  hair  appeared  almost  white. 

"Kurt,"  she  said,  "how  could  you  permit  me  to  be 
involved  in  such  matters?" 

"Karen,  do  you  imagine  I  supposed  that  war  with 
England  was  imminent?  I  never  dreamed  that  Eng 
land  would  intervene!  And  when  she  did,  and  when  it 
was  already  too  late  to  reach  you,  the  anxiety  concern 
ing  you,  and  concerning  what  papers  might  still  be 
passing  from  the  Edmeston  Agency  through  your 
hands,  nearly  drove  me  insane." 

"Yet  you  instructed  me  to  bring  back  with  me  any 
papers  I  might  have  in  my  possession." 

"I  tell  you  I  did  not  count  on  war  with  England. 

309 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Nobody  did.  I  meant  only  that  you  were  to  bring 
with  you  what  papers  you  had  when  you  returned.  Did 
not  Gratz  instruct  you  to  destroy  your  papers?" 

"No." 

Von  Reiter's  lean  jaws  snapped.  "Then  what  did 
you  do  with  them?" 

"I  put  them  into  my  satchel.  On  board  the  steamer 
the  satchel  was  opened  and  the  papers  taken." 

Anger,  apprehension,  twitched  at  his  thin  lips ;  then 
a  deeper  emotion  softened  the  grim  lines  of  his  fea 
tures. 

"God  be  thanked,"  he  said,  "that  you  were  not  in 
volved  in  England.  It  was  a  living  nightmare  to  me — 
that  constant  uncertainty  concerning  you.  I  could  not 
reach  you;  I  could  do  nothing,  make  no  arrangements. 
Cipher  code  was  forbidden  even  from  neutral  countries. 
It  was  only  at  the  last  moment  I  found  a  secret  wireless 
lane  still  open  to  us.  In  that  way  I  managed  to  noiify 
Gratz  that  this  man  Guild  was  on  his  way  to  find 
you  and  bring  you  back  here;  that  no  more  papers 
were  to  be  sent  through  you  to  me ;  and  that  what  you 
had  were  to  be  destroyed.  Did  you  hear  from  him  at 
all?" 

"He  telephoned  that  my  maid  had  been  arrested  on 
a  serious  charge  and  that  I  was  to  leave  Hyacinth  Villa 
at  once  with  Mr.  Guild.  He  said  nothing  about  papers. 
But  I  remembered  what  I  had  promised  you,  and  I  put 
into  my  satchel  what  papers  I  had.  .  .  .  They  nearly 
lost  me  my  life,"  she  added,  gazing  steadily  at  him. 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  that  you  knew  the  papers  were 

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CANDLE   LIGHT 


compromising  and  still  you  undertook  to  bring  them? 
Were  you  insane  to  attempt  such  a  thing?" 

"Had  I  not  promised  you,  Kurt?" 

"Circumstances  alter  conditions  and  absolve  promises 
however  solemn.  Common  sense  decides  where  honour 
is  involved." 

She  flushed  brightly :  "There  I  am  more  English  than 
German,  Kurt.  A  promise  is  a  promise,  and  not" — she 
looked  at  him  musingly — "not  what  the  British  press 
reproaches  us  for  calling  a  'scrap  of  paper.' ' 

He  said  grimly:  "When  a  supposed  friend  suddenly 
aims  a  blow  at  you,  strike  first  if  you  can  and  discuss 
the  ethics  afterward.  We  tore  up  that  'scrap  of  paper' 
before  the  dirty  fingers  of  England  could  clutch  it, 
that's  all." 

"And  lost  the  world's  sympathy.    Oh,  Kurt!" 

"But  we  retained  the  respect  born  of  fear.  We  in 
vaded  Belgium  before  the  others  could  do  it,  that's  all. 
...  I  do  not  care  to  discuss  the  matter.  The  truth 
is  known  to  us  and  that  is  sufficient." 

"It  is  not  sufficient  if  you  desire  the  sympathy  of  the 
world." 

Von  Reiter's  eyes  became  paler  and  fixed  and  he  wor 
ried  the  points  of  his  up-brushed  mustache  with  power 
ful,  lean  fingers. 

"Make  no  mistake,"  he  said  musingly.  "America's 
turn  will  come.  .  .  .  For  all  the  insolence  she  has 
offered  in  our  time  of  need,  surely,  surely  the  time  is 
coming  for  our  reckoning  with  her.  We  have  not  for 
gotten  von  Diederichs;  we  shall  not  forget  this  crisis. 

311 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


All  shall  be  arranged  with  method  and  order  when 
we  are  ready.  .  .  .  Where  is  that  American — or  Bel 
gian,  as  he  seems  to  think  his  honour  of  the  moment 
requires  him  to  be?" 

"Mr.  Guild?" 

"Yes." 

"He  did  not  come  here  when  the  others  arrived  from 
Lesse  Forest." 

"He's  a  fire-brand,"  said  von  Reiter  coldly.  "Our 
system  of  information  informed  us  sufficiently.  I  should 
have  had  him  extinguished  at  Yslemont  had  he  not  been 
the  one  man  who  stood  any  chance  of  getting  into  Eng 
land  and  bringing  you  back." 

"Also  you  trusted  him,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Yes,  I  did.  He  is  a  Gueldres  of  Yvoir.  The  Guel- 
dres  have  never  lied.  When  he  said  he'd  return,  that 
settled  the  matter."  Von  Reiter's  eyes  had  an  absent 
look  as  though  following  a  detached  idea,  and  his  fea 
tures  became  expressionless. 

"When  the  war  ends,"  he  said,  "and  if  that  man  ever 
comes  to  Berlin,  it  would  afford  me  gratification  to  offer 
him  my  hand — or  my  card.  Either  extreme  would  suit 
me ;  he  is  not  a  man  to  leave  one  indifferent ;  it  is  either 
friendship  or  enmity — the  hand  or  the  card.  And  I 
do  not  know  yet  which  I  might  prefer." 

He  looked  up  and  around  at  her,  his  sombre,  blond 
features  hardening: 

"I  need  not  ask  you  whether  his  attitude  toward  you 
was  respectful." 

"It  was — respectful." 

312 


CANDLE   LIGHT 


"That  question,  of  course,  answered  itself.  The  rec 
ord  of  that  family  is  part  of  Belgian  history.  .  .  .  Do 
you  know  where  he  went  after  he  kept  his  word  and 
delivered  you  here?" 

"He  went  to  Lesse." 

"And  then?" 

She  remained  silent. 

"Do  you  know?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes." 

"Is  there  any  reason  why  you  should  not  tell  me  ?" 

She  was  mute. 

"Karen,"  he  said  gently,  "is  there  any  reason  why 
your  confidence  should  be  withheld  from  me?  I  have 
come  here  tonight  for  my  answer.  I  have  only  an  hour 
to  stay.  It  was  a  long  way  to  come  for  one  single  word 
from  a  young  girl.  But  I  would  have  travelled  the 
world  over  for  that  word  from  you.  Will  you  give  me 
my  answer,  Karen?" 

She  looked  up,  dumb,  her  mouth  tremulous,  unable 
to  control  her  emotion  for  the  moment.  His  keen  eyes 
searched  hers ;  he  waited,  thin  lips  compressed. 

"Kurt — I — do  not  love  you,"  she  whispered. 

He  took  it  in  silence ;  not  a  muscle  quivered. 

"Will  you  marry  me,  Karen,  and  try  ?" 

"I  can  not." 

"Is  it  your  profession  ?  Is  it  your  desire  for  liberty '?** 

"No." 

"Is  it — another  man?" 

As  he  spoke  he  saw  in  her  eyes  that  he  had  guessed 
the  truth. 

313 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


For  a  full  minute  he  sat  there  like  a  statue,  one  arm 
extended  on  the  table,  the  bony  hand  clenched.  After 
a  long  while  he  lifted  his  head  and  turned  upon  her  a 
visage  terrifying  in  its  pallour  and  rigidity. 

"Is  it— Guild?"  he  asked  with  an  effort. 

"Kurt!" 

"Is  it  ?"  The  heavy  colour  suddenly  flooded  his  face ; 
he  drew  a  deep,  sharp  breath.  "Is  he  still  in  this  neigh 
bourhood?  Is  he,  perhaps,  coming  here  to  see  you?  Is 
that  why  you  are  awake  and  dressed  at  this  hour?" 

"Kurt,  you  have  no  right " 

"I  am  at  liberty  to  ask  you  these  questions " 

"No !    It  is  an  impertinence " 

"Do  you  regard  it  that  way  ?  Karen !  Is  this  what 
has  happened — "  He  choked,  turned  his  congested  face, 
glaring  about  him  at  the  four  walls  of  the  room.  Sud 
denly  some  instinct  of  suspicion  seized  him,  possessed 
him,  brought  him  to  his  feet  in  one  bound.  And  in 
stantly  the  girl  rose,  too. 

"I  know  why  you  are  awake  and  dressed!"  he  said 
harshly.  "You  are  expecting  him!  Are  you?" 

She  could  not  answer ;  her  breath  had  deserted  her,  and 
she  merely  stood  there,  one  hand  resting  on  the  table, 
her  frightened  eyes  fixed  on  the  man  confronting  her. 

But  at  his  first  step  forward  she  sprang  in  front  of 
him.  She  strove  to  speak ;  the  infernal  blaze  in  his  eyes 
terrified  her. 

"Is  this  what  you  have  done  to  me?"  he  said;  and 
moved  to  pass  her,  but  she  caught  his  arm,  and  he 
halted. 


CHAPTER    XXIV 

A   PERSONAL  AFFAIR 

MY  God!"  he  said,  "it  would  not  surprise  me  to 
find  him  here  in  the  house !  .  .  .  He  is  here — • 
or  you  would  never  wear  a  face  like  that !  .  .  . 
What  do  you  mean  to  do,  block  my  way  in  my  own 
house?"  as  she  confronted  him. 

"Kurt — "    Her  white  lips  merely  formed  the  word. 

"Is  he  here?    Answer  me!" 

"I— he " 

"Answer  me !" 

Behind  them  a  voice  broke  in  quietly:  "I'll  answer 
for  us  all.  .  .  .  Don't  touch  that  holster,  General!  I 
can  kill  you  first.  .  .  .  Now,  then,  am  I  to  pass  that 
door  without  violence?  .  .  .  Because  I'm  going  to  pass 
it  one  way  or  another " 

He  came  forward,  his  naked  sabre  shining  in  the  can 
dle  light,  his  grey  eyes  level,  cool,  and  desperate. 

Von  Reiter  stared  at  this  tall  young  fellow  in  the 
gay  uniform  of  the  Guides.  His  hand,  which  had  in 
stantly  moved  toward  his  holster,  remained  suspended. 

"I  am  going  out    of    that    door,"  repeated    Guild. 

315 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Will  General  Baron  von  Reiter  be  good  enough  to 
move  aside?" 

The  German's  eyes  narrowed.  "So,"  he  said  very 
quietly,  "it  is  not  to  be  the  hand  after  all,  but  an 
exchange  of  cards.  I  am  not  sorry — "  With  a 
movement  too  swift  for  the  eye  to  follow,  his  sword 
was  out  and  glittering  in  his  hand,  and  he  sprang 
on  Guild,  beating  at  his  guard,  raining  blows  like  light 
ning. 

The  girl  had  fallen  against  the  table,  one  hand  at  her 
throat  as  though  choking  back  the  bursting  cry  of 
fright ;  her  brain  rang  with  the  dissonance  and  metallic 
clamour ;  the  flashing  steel  dazzled  her.  Two  oak  chairs 
fell  crashing  as  Guild  gave  ground  under  the  terrific 
onslaught;  there  was  not  a  word  spoken,  not  a  sound 
except  the  infernal  din  of  the  sabres  and  the  ceaseless 
shifting  of  armed  heels  on  the  floor. 

Suddenly  von  Reiter  went  down  heavily;  the  door 
mat  slipping  under  foot  had  flung  him  to  the  floor  with 
a  crash  across  a  fallen  chair.  After  a  second  or  two  he 
groaned. 

Guild  looked  down  at  him,  bewildered,  sword  in  hand 
— watched  him  as  he  struggled  to  his  feet.  The  German 
was  ghastly  white.  A  fit  of  coughing  shook  him  and 
he  tried  to  disguise  it  with  his  hand. 

"Pick  up  your  sabre !"  motioned  Guild. 

Von  Reiter  stooped,  recovered  his  sword,  adjusted  the 
hilt  to  his  hand.  He  coughed  again,  and  there  was  a 
trace  of  blood  on  his  lips,  but  his  face  was  dead  white. 
He  looked  very  steadily  at  Guild. 

316 


A    PERSONAL   AFFAIR 


"Acknowledgments  to  the  Comte  d'Yvoir,"  he  said 
with  an  effort ;  and  the  shadow  of  a  smile  touched  his 
thin,  grim  lips. 

"Do  I  pass?"  demanded  Guild,  as  grimly. 

Von  Reiter  started  to  speak,  and  suddenly  his  mouth 
was  full  of  blood. 

"Kurt,"  cried  the  girl  in  an  agonized  voice,  "do  you 
mean  to  kill  him  or  that  he  is  to  kill  you! — here — before 
my  face?" 

"I  mean — just — that!" 

He  sprang  at  Guild  again  like  a  tiger,  but  Guild  was 
on  him  first,  and  the  impact  hurled  von  Reiter  against 
the  table.  His  sabre  fell  clattering  to  the  floor. 

For  a  moment,  white  as  a  corpse,  he  looked  at  his 
opponent  with  sick  eyes,  then,  suddenly  faint,  he  slid 
into  the  great  leather  chair.  There  was  more  blood  on 
his  lips ;  Guild,  breathing  heavily,  bent  over  and  looked 
at  him,  ignorant  of  what  had  happened. 

Karen  came  and  took  his  hand  in  hers.  Then  a  slight 
groan  escaped  him  and  he  opened  his  eyes. 

"Are  you  badly  hurt?"  asked  Guild. 

"I'm  a  little  sick,  that's  all.  I  think  when  I  fell  some 
ribs  broke — or  something " 

"I  meant  fairly  by  you,"  said  Guild  miserably. 

"You  played  fair.  It  was  bad  luck — bad  luck — 
that's  all."  He  closed  his  pain-sickened  eyes:  "God, 
what  luck,"  he  mumbled — "really  atrocious  !" 

Guild,  still  holding  his  naked  sword,  drew  his  auto 
matic  with  his  left  hand.  Then  he  looked  silently  at 
Karen. 

317 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Can't  you  leave  the  house  by  the  garden?"  she  whis 
pered  tremulously. 

"The  gate  is  padlocked." 

"Kervyn,  they'll  kill  you  if  you  step  out  of  that 
door!" 

Von  Reiter,  drowsy  with  pain,  opened  his  eyes : 

"No,  they  won't,"  he  said.  "Be  kind  enough  to 
speak  to  my  aide.  I — I'm  afraid  I'm  rather — ill." 

He  glanced  at  Guild:  "Honour  of  an  officer,"  he 
added  weakly. 

Karen  stepped  to  the  door  and  flung  it  open. 

"Captain  !"  she  called  sharply. 

A  moment  later  the  young  hussar  aide-de-camp  who 
had  escorted  Guild  to  the  British  lines  came  clanking 
in. 

He  glanced  obliquely  at  Guild  and  at  Karen,  but 
when  his  eyes  fell  on  von  Reiter  he  stared,  astonished. 
Nevertheless,  his  spurred  heels  clicked  together  at 
salute. 

Von  Reiter's  eyes  became  ironical.  He  looked  for  a 
moment  at  his  aide,  then  his  gaze  wandered  to  Karen  and 
to  Guild. 

"Where  do  you  desire  to  go  ?"  he  asked  with  an  effort. 

"To  Antwerp." 

"The  road  is  still  open."  And,  to  the  hussar :  "Safe 
conduct  for  Captain  the  Comte  d'Yvoir  across  the  rail 
way.  Write  it  now." 

"And  for  my  comrade,  Mr.  Barrel,  and  ten  recruits," 
said  Guild  quietly. 

"And  for  his  comrade,  Mr.  Barrel,  and  ten  recruits," 

318 


A   PERSONAL  AFFAIR 


repeated  von  Reiter  in  a  failing  voice.     But  he  was 

smiling. 

"And — for  mel"  said  Karen. 

Von  Reiter's  eyes  had  almost  closed;  he  opened  them 
again,  heavily,  as  she  spoke.  Karen  bent  over  him : 

"Kurt,  I  must  go.  I  can  not  remain  here  now.  Be 
sides — I  want — my — husband." 

"Think  well,"  he  said  drowsily.  "Think  diligently — 
at  this  moment — solemn — supreme — "  He  raised  him 
self  a  little,  then  relapsed :  "God,"  he  murmured,  "what 
luck  to  meet  with  under  your  own  roof !  .  .  ."  And,  to 
the  hussar:  "Write  it  that  Miss  Karen  Girard  goes 
also — if  she  so  desires." 

There  was  a  silence.  The  hussar  scribbled  on  the 
stamped  paper  in  his  tablets.  After  he  had  finished  he 
laid  the  tablets  and  the  fountain  pen  on  von  Reiter's 
knees.  Very  slowly  the  latter  affixed  his  signature. 

He  said  to  the  hussar :  "I  am  ill.  Go  to  Trois  Fon 
taines  and  bring  me  a  medical  officer." 

When  the  hussar  had  gone  and  when  the  whirr  of  the 
automobile  had  died  away  down  the  drive,  Guild  aided 
the  hurt  man  to  a  sofa  and  Karen  brought  pillows  from 
a  bedroom. 

He  was  very  thirsty,  too,  and  she  gave  him  water 
continually.  At  intervals  there  were  slight  signs  of 
mental  wandering,  perhaps  symptoms  of  pneumonia, 
from  his  crushed  ribs,  for  he  coughed  a  great  deal  and 
the  fever  already  reddened  his  blond  skin.  But  in  the 
main  his  mind  seemed  to  be  clear.  He  opened  his  light- 
blue  eyes  and  glanced  at  Guild  continually. 

319 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


"Bad  luck,  old  chap,"  he  said  in  English,  "but  no 
reflection  on  you.  Just  bad  luck,  bad,  very  bad!  We 
Germans  usually  have  an  ally  in  God.  But  the  trinity 
is  incomplete  without  luck." 

Guild  said  in  a  low  voice:  "I  am  really  sorry,  von 
Reiter.  I  hope  you  will  come  out  all  right.  God 
knows  I  bear  you  no  ill  will." 

"Many  thanks.  I  shall  come  out  all  right.  There 
is  much  work  to  do."  A  ghost  of  the  ironical 
smile  touched  his  feverish  lips  again.  "And  much 
work  to  be  done  after  this  business  in  Europe  is  set 
tled.  ...  I  mean  in  America.  She  must  pay  her  reck 
oning.  She  must  settle  with  us  Germans.  ...  I 
wish  it  might  come  soon — -now! — while  their  present 
administration  remains — while  yet  this  dull  President 
and  his  imbecile  and  grotesque  cabinet  ministers  are 
in  power.  ...  I  beg  your  pardon — seeing  you  in 
that  uniform  made  me  forget  that  you  are  also  Mr. 
Guild." 

But  the  irony  in  his  wearied  eyes  made  it  very  plain 
that  he  had  not  forgotten. 

"Karen?"  he  said  presently.  She  leaned  forward  in 
her  chair  beside  him. 

"It  was  just  bad  luck,  very  bad  luck,"  he  muttered; 
"but  yours  is  luck" — he  turned  his  dulled  eyes  toward 
Guild — "luck  to  be  envied.  .  .  .  Some  day  I  hope  it 
may  be — the  hand." 

"It  is  now,  if  you  wish,"  said  Guild. 

The  other  shook  his  head:  "Too  soon,  too  soon,"  he 
muttered.  "Even  a  German  officer  has  his — limits.  Be- 

320 


A    PERSONAL   AFFAIR 


tween  you  and  my  luck  I'm  in  a  bad  way — a  very  bad 
mess." 

Karen  bent  over  his  hand  and  touched  it  with  her  lips. 

The  fever  was  gaining;  he  began  to  roll  his  blond 
head  from  side  to  side,  muttering  of  love  and  luck  and 
of  the  glory  of  God  and  the  German  Empire.  A  slight 
smile  remained  on  his  lips. 

Before  the  automobile  arrived  from  Trois  Fontaines 
the  fever  seized  him  fiercely.  His  coughing  racked  him 
incessantly  now,  and  the  first  heavy  hemorrhage  soaked 
his  grey  tunic  and  undershirt. 

They  eased  him  all  they  could,  laying  open  his  broad 
blond  chest  and  the  ribs  now  terribly  discoloured  where 
his  fall  had  crushed  them  in  again  under  the  bandage. 

How  the  man  could  have  risen  and  come  at  him  again 
Guild  could  not  understand.  He  was  terribly  shocked. 

Dreadful  sounds  came  from  his  laboured  breathing; 
he  lay  with  eyes  closed  now,  one  burning  hand  lying  in 
Karen's. 

Toward  four  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  far,  faint  sound 
penetrated  the  room. 

Von  Reiter's  eyes  opened.  "Halt!"  he  whispered. 
"Who  goes  there?" 

It  was  Death.  He  seemed  to  understand  that,  for  he 
sighed  very  lightly,  his  hand  closed  on  Karen's,  and  he 
lay  gazing  straight  upward  with  brilliant  eyes. 

A  few  moments  later  there  came  a  rush,  a  crunching 
of  gravel,  the  loud  purr  of  the  motor  outside. 

Then  Karen  opened  the  door  and  a  medical  officer 
entered  the  room  in  haste. 

321 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


Guild  turned  to  Karen:  "I  must  go  to  the  woods 
and  bring  in  my  men  and  Darrel.  Dearest,  are  you 
decided  to  go  with  me?" 

"I  could  not  remain  here  now.    I  do  not  wish  to." 

"Then  wait  for  me,"  he  said,  and  went  out  into  the 
night. 

A  few  moments  later  they  took  von  Reiter  upstairs 
to  his  own  room.  His  mind  seemed  to  clear  again  for  a 
while  and  he  said  feebly  but  distinctly  to  his  aide-de-camp : 

"My  daughter  and  her  fiance,  the  Comte  d'Yvoir,  are 
going  to  Antwerp  for  their  wedding.  I  remember  that 
military  trains  now  leave  Trois  Fontaines  by  way  of 
Trois  Vierges,  Liege,  and  Lesten.  We  control  to  Lesten, 
I  think." 

"Yes,  Excellence." 

"Write  for  me  that  my  daughter  and  the  Comte 
d'Yvoir  shall  be  accorded  transportation  as  far  as  we 
control.  You  will  take  them  to  Trois  Fontaines  in  my 
automobile;  you  will  make  personal  requisition  of  the 
chef-de-gar  for  the  privacy  of  a  compartment.  You 
will  affix  to  the  outside  of  the  compartment  a  notice  that 
the  persons  in  possession  are  travelling  on  my  business 
and  under  my  personal  protection,  and  that  they  are  not 
to  be  detained  or  interfered  with  in  any  way.  .  .  . 
Write  it  separately  to  be  affixed."  His  voice  was  weak 
but  perfectly  distinct. 

The  hussar  wrote  steadily  in  his  tablets,  finished,  and 
Waited. 

"Hold  them  while  I  sign,"  whispered  von  Reiter.  He 
signed  both  orders. 


A   PERSONAL   'AFFAIR 


"Take  them  now.  I  shall  not  need  the  car.  I  shall 
be  here  a  long  time — a — long — time.  I  am  ill.  So  in 
form  headquarters  by  telegraph." 

"At  orders,  Excellence." 

Von  Reiter  closed  his  eyes:  "Say  to  the  Comte 
d'Yvoir  that  it  was — bad  luck — very  bad  luck.  .  .  . 
But  not — his  fault.  .  .  .  Tell  him  I  am — contented — 
that  a  Gueldres  is  to  marry  my — daughter." 

The  aide  saluted.  But  the  sick  man  said  nothing 
more. 

Von  Reiter  was  still  unconscious  when  Guild  returned 
from  the  forest. 

Karen  met  him  on  the  steps ;  he  drew  her  aside : 

"Dear,"  he  whispered,  "there  has  been  more  violence 
during  my  absence.  The  Lesse  men  caught  a  traitor — 

wretched  charcoal  burner  from  Moresnet — prowling 
about  their  camp. 

"They  hung  him  with  his  own  belt.  I  saw  him  hang 
ing  to  a  beech-tree. 

"Barrel  was  greatly  worried  when  I  told  him  that  the 
Courlands  had  been  forced  to  continue  on  to  Luxem 
bourg  City.  He  has  gone  to  the  hamlet  of  Croix  to  hire 
a  peasant  to  drive  him  after  them  and  try  to  overtake 
them. 

"As  for  the  others,  they  will  not  come  to  Antwerp  with 
me  now.  They  have  seen  'red'  again ;  and  in  spite  of 
all  I  could  do  they  have  started  back  toward  Lesse  to 
'drive'  Uhlans  as  they  saw  the  wild  game  driven." 

The  girl  shivered. 

323 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


Guild  made  a  hopeless  gesture :  "It  means  the  death 
of  every  man  among  them.  The  Uhlans  will  do  the 
hunting  and  the  driving,  not  the  poor,  half-crazed  peas 
ants.  ...  It  means  the  end  of  Lesse  and  of  every  man 
who  had  ever  called  it  home." 

The  hussar  appeared  at  the  door.  Guild  looked  up, 
returned  the  precise  salute,  and  his  careworn  features 
softened  as  he  listened  to  the  instructions  and  the  part 
ing  message  from  the  now  unconscious  officer  above. 

There  was  a  silence,  then : 

"Karen,"  he  said  quietly,  "are  you  ready?" 

"Yes." 

The  hussar  asked  whether  there  was  luggage,  and 
learning  that  there  was  he  sent  the  chauffeur  in  to  bring 
out  Guild's  box  and  Karen's  suit-case  and  satchel. 

The  girl  ran  upstairs  to  the  sick  room.  They  ad 
mitted  her. 

Guild  was  standing  by  the  car  when  she  returned,  a 
drooping,  listless  figure,  her  handkerchief  pressed  to  her 
face.  He  gave  her  his  arm  and  aided  her  into  the  car. 
The  hussar  stepped  in  beside  the  chauffeur. 

Dawn  was  just  breaking  behind  the  house;  the  ever 
greens  stood  out,  massive  and  black  against  the  silver 
ing  east. 

As  the  car  moved  slowly  out  of  the  gravel  circle  the 
first  bird  twittered. 

Guild  bent  over  the  girl  beside  him:  "Is  he  still 
unconscious  ?" 

"Yes." 

"Is  there  any  chance?" 

324 


A   PERSONAL  AFFAIR 


"They  don't  know.  It  is  the  lungs.  His  body  is  all 
crushed  in " 

She  rested  her  cheek  against  his  shoulder,  weeping, 
as  the  great  grey  car  rushed  on  through  the  pallour 
of  early  dawn. 


CHAPTER    XXV 

WHO  GOES  THERE! 

STRETCHED  out  flat  on  the  seat  of  a  railway  car 
riage,  her  tear-marred  face  buried  in  her  arms, 
her  dishevelled  hair  tumbled  around  her  neck  and 
shoulders,  Karen  lay  asleep.  In  that  car  all  the  other 
compartments  seemed  to  be  full  of  Saxon  reserve  artil 
lery  officers,  their  knobbed  helmets  shrouded  in  new  grey 
slips,  their  new,  unwrinkled  uniforms  suggestive  of  a 
very  recent  importation  from  across  the  Rhine. 

Ahead,  cattle  cars,  ore  cars,  and  flat  cars  composed 
the  long  train,  the  former  filled  with  battery  horses  and 
cannoniers,  the  latter  loaded  with  guns,  caissons,  battery 
waggons,  forges,  and  camp  equipment,  all  in  brand-new 
grey  paint. 

Except  when  the  train  stopped  at  some  heavily 
guarded  station,  nobody  came  to  their  compartment. 
But  at  all  stations  officers  opened  the  doors  and  silently 
examined  Guild's  credentials — energetic,  quick-moving, 
but  civil  men,  who,  when  the  credentials  proved  accept 
able,  invariably  saluted  his  uniform  with  a  correctness 
impeccable. 

Nevertheless,  before  the  train  moved  out  again,  al- 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


ways  there  was  a  group  of  officers  gazing  in  polite  per 
plexity  at  the  green  jacket  and  forage  cap  and  the 
cherry-coloured  riding  breeches  of  a  regiment  which, 
they  were  perfectly  aware,  was  already  in  the  saddle 
against  them. 

At  one  station  Guild  was  able  to  buy  bread  and  cheese 
and  fruit.  But  Karen  still  slept  profoundly,  and  he  did 
not  care  to  awaken  her. 

From  the  car  windows  none  of  the  tragic  traces  of 
war  were  visible  except  only  the  usual  clusters  of  spiked 
helmets  along  the  line ;  the  inevitable  Uhlans  riding 
amid  the  landscape ;  slowly  moving  waggon-trains  pur 
suing  roads  parallel  to  the  railway;  brief  glimpses  of 
troops  encamped  in  fields.  But  nothing  of  the  ravage 
and  desolation  which  blackened  the  land  farther  south 
was  apparent. 

In  the  latitude  of  Liege,  however,  Guild  could  see 
from  the  car  windows  the  occasional  remains  of  ruined 
bridges  damming  small  streams ;  and  here  and  there 
roofless  and  smoke-stained  walls,  or  the  blackened  debris 
of  some  burnt  farm  or  factory  or  mill. 

But  the  northern  Ardennes  did  not  appear  to  have 
suffered  very  much  from  invasion  as  far  as  he  could 
make  out ;  and  whether  the  region  was  heavily  occupied 
by  an  invading  army  he  could  not  determine  from  the 
glimpses  he  obtained  out  of  the  car  windows. 

The  line,  however,  was  vigilantly  guarded;  that  he 
could  see  plainly  enough;  but  the  sky-line  of  the  low- 
rolling  country  on  either  side  might  be  the  limits  of 
German  occupation  for  all  he  could  determine. 

327 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


Two  nights'  constant  wakefulness  had  made  him  very 
sleepy.  He  drowsed  and  nodded  in  his  corner  by  the 
shaking  window,  rousing  himself  at  intervals  to  cast  a 
watchful  glance  at  Karen. 

She  still  slept  like  a  worn-out  child. 

In  the  west  the  sun  was  already  level  with  the  car 
windows — a  cherry-hued  ball  veiled  slightly  in  delicate 
brown  haze.  The  train  had  stopped  at  a  siding  in  a 
young  woodland.  He  opened  the  window  to  the  fresh, 
sweet  air  and  looked  out  at  the  yellowing  autumn  leaves 
which  the  setting  sun  made  transparent  gold. 

It  was  very  still ;  scarcely  a  sound  except  from  very 
high  in  the  air  somewhere  came  a  faint  clattering  noise. 
And  after  a  while  he  turned  his  head  and  looked  up  at 
a  flight  of  aeroplanes  crossing  the  line  at  an  immense 
height. 

Stately,  impressive,  like  a  migration  of  wide-winged 
hawks,  they  glided  westward,  the  red  sun  touching  their 
undersides  with  rose.  And  he  watched  them  until 
they  became  dots,  and  disappeared  one  by  one  in  mid- 
heaven. 

Presently,  along  the  main  track,  came  rushing  a  hos 
pital  train,  the  carriages  succeeding  one  another  like 
flashes  of  light,  vanishing  into  perspective  with  a  dimin 
ishing  roar  and  leaving  in  its  wake  an  odour  of  disin 
fectants. 

Then  the  train  he  was  on  began  to  move;  soldiers 
along  the  rails  stood  at  attention ;  a  company  of  Uhlans 
cantered  along  a  parallel  road,  keeping  pace  with  the 
cars  for  a  while.  Then  the  woods  closed  in  again,  thick, 

328 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


shaggy  forest  land  which  blotted  out  the  low-hanging 
sun. 

He  closed  the  window,  turned  and  glanced  at  Karen. 
She  slept.  And  he  lay  back  in  his  corner  and  closed 
his  haggard  eyes. 

The  next  time  he  opened  them  the  light  in  the  car 
had  become  very  dim. 

Twilight  purpled  the  woods  and  hills ;  dusk  was  ar 
riving  swiftly. 

It  was  dark  when,  at  a  way  station,  a  soldier  opened 
the  door,  saluted,  and  lighted  the  lamp  in  the  compart 
ment.  The  train  lay  there  a  long  while;  they  were 
unloading  horses,  cannon  and  waggons;  teams  were 
being  harnessed  in  the  dark,  guns  limbered,  cannoniers 
mounted,  all  in  perfect  order  and  with  a  quiet  celerity 
and  an  absence  of  noise  and  confusion  that  fascinated 
Guild. 

Presently,  and  within  a  space  of  time  almost  incred 
ible,  the  artillery  moved  off  into  the  darkness.  He  could 
hear  the  rhythmical  trample  of  horses,  the  crunch  of 
wheels,  sabres  rattling,  the  subdued  clank  and  clatter 
of  a  field  battery  on  the  march.  But  he  could  see  no 
lights,  distinguish  no  loud  voices,  no  bugle-calls.  Now 
and  then  a  clear  whistle  note  sounded;  now  and  then 
a  horse  snorted,  excited  by  the  open  air. 

The  car  in  which  they  were  was  now  detached  and 
sidetracked ;  the  long  train  backed  slowly  past  and  away 
into  the  darkness. 

And  after  a  while  another  locomotive  came  steam 
ing  out  of  the  obscurity  ahead ;  he  heard  them  coupling 

329 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


it  to  the  car  in  which  he  sat.  The  jar  did  not  awaken 
Karen. 

Presently  they  were  in  motion  again ;  the  tiled  roof 
of  an  unlighted  railway  station  glided  past  the  win 
dow;  stars  appeared,  trees,  a  high  dark  hill  to  the 
right. 

A  military  guard  came  through  the  corridor,  lan 
tern  in  hand,  and  told  Guild  that  the  car  was  now 
entirely  empty  and  at  his  disposal. 

So  he  rose  and  went  forward  where  he  could  look 
out  ahead  and  see  the  dull  glow  of  the  smokestack  and 
the  ruddy  light  of  the  furnace. 

For  a  long  while  he  stood  there  watching  the  mov 
ing  silhouettes  of  engineer  and  fireman.  The  sombre 
red  light  trembled  on  the  rails  and  swept  the  wayside 
trees  or  painted  with  fiery  streaks  the  sides  of  a  cut 
or  glittered  along  the  rocky  wet  walls  of  tunnels. 

When  at  last  he  went  back  to  the  compartment, 
Karen  was  sitting  up,  twisting  her  hair  into  shape. 

"Do  you  feel  rested?"  he  asked  cheerfully,  seating 
himself  beside  her. 

"Yes,  thank  you.    Where  are  we,  Kervyn?" 

"I  don't  know." 

She  was  still  busy  with  her  hair,  but  her  eyes  re 
mained  on  him. 

"Can  I  do  anything  for  you?  Do  you  need  any 
thing?"  he  asked. 

"I  seem  to  need  almost  everything !"  she  protested, 
"including  a  bath  and  a  clergyman.  Oh,  Kervyn,  what 
a  wedding  journey!  Is  there  anything  about  me  that 

330 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


resembles  a  bride?  And  I'm  not  even  that,  yet — just 
a  crumpled,  soiled,  disreputable  child!" 

"You  are  absolutely  adorable  just  as  you  are!" 

"No!  I  am  unspeakable.  And  I  want  to  be  at 
tractive  to  you.  I  really  can  be  very  nice-looking,  only 
you  never  saw  me  so " 

"Dearest !" 

"I  haven't  had  any  clothes  since  I  first  met  you !"  she 
said  excitedly.  "You  know  I  can  scarcely  bear  it  to 
have  you  think  of  me  this  way.  Will  I  have  time  to 
buy  a  gown  in  Antwerp?  How  long  will  it  take  us  to 
marry  each  other?  Because,  of  course,  I  shall  not 
let  you  ride  away  with  your  regiment  until  you  are  my 
husband." 

She  flushed  again,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  her  eyes. 
It  was  plain  that  her  nerves  had  given  way  under  the 
long  strain. 

"Kervyn  !  Only  yesterday  war  meant  almost  nothing 
to  me.  And  look  at  me  now ! — look  at  the  girl  you  saw 
in  England  only  a  few  days  ago ! — a  woman  today ! — 
a  wife  tomorrow,  please  God — and  the  fear  of  this 
war  already  overwhelming  me." 

She  brushed  the  starting  tears  from  her  eyes ;  they 
filled  again.  She  said  miserably :  "We  women  all  in 
herit  sorrow,  it  seems,  the  moment  our  girlhood  leaves 
us.  A  few  days  ago  I  didn't  know  what  it  was  to  be 
afraid.  Then  you  came.  And  with  you  came  friend 
ship.  And  with  friendship  came  fear — fear  for  you! 
.  .  .  And  then,  very  swiftly,  love  came;  and  my  girl 
hood  was  gone — gone — like  yesterday — leaving  me 

331 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


alone    in    the    world    with    you    and    love    and    war!" 

He  drew  her  face  against  his  shoulder: 

"This  world  war  is  making  us  all  feel  a  little  lonely," 
he  said.  "The  old  familiar  world  is  already  changing 
under  our  bewildered  eyes.  It  is  a  totally  new  era 
which  is  dawning;  a  new  people  is  replacing  the  in 
habitants  of  earth,  born  to  new  thoughts,  new  ideals, 
new  ambitions. 

"I  think  the  old  tyranny  is  already  beginning  to  pass 
from  men's  souls  and  minds ;  the  old  folk-ways,  the  old 
and  out-worn  terrors,  the  tinselled  dogmas,  the  old  false 
standards,  the  universal  dread  of  that  absolute  intellec 
tual  freedom  which  alone  can  make  a  truly  new  heaven 
and  a  new  earth. 

"All  this  is  already  beginning  to  pass  away  in  the 
awful  intellectual  revelation  which  this  world  war  is 
making  hour  by  hour. 

"What  wonder  that  we  feel  the  approaching  change, 
the  apprehension  of  that  mortal  loneliness  which  must 
leave  us  stripped  of  all  that  was  familiar  while  the  old 
order  passes — vanishes  like  mist  at  dawn." 

He  bent  and  touched  her  hand  with  his  lips : 

"But  there  will  be  a  dawn,  Karen.  Never  doubt  it, 
sweet !" 

"Shall  our  children  see  it — if  God  is  kind  to  us?"  she 
whispered. 

"Yes.  If  God  is  very  kind,  I  think  that  we  shall  see 
it,  too." 

The  girl  nodded,  pressing  her  cheek  against  his,  her 
eyes  clear  and  sweetly  grave. 

332 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


He  said:  "No  man  ever  born,  since  Christ,  has  dared 
to  be  himself.  No  woman,  either.  ...  I  think  our 
children  will  begin  to  dare." 

She  mused,  wide-eyed,  wondering. 

"And  he  who  takes  up  a  sword,"  he  said  in  a  low 
voice,  "shall  find  himself  alone  like  a  mad  dog  in  a  city 
street,  with  every  living  soul  bent  upon  his  extermina 
tion. 

"Thus  will  perish  emperors  and  kings.  Our  chil 
dren's  children  shall  have  heard  of  them,  marvelling  that 
we  had  lived  to  see  them  pass  away  into  the  mist  of 
fable." 

After  a  while  she  lifted  her  face  and  looked  at  him 
out  of  wistful  eyes: 

"Meanwhile  you  fight  for  them,"   she  said. 

"I  am  of  today — a  part  of  the  mock  mystery  and 
the  tarnished  tinsel.  That  grey  old  man  of  Austria 
quarrels  with  his  neighbour  of  Servia,  and  calls  out 
four  million  men  to  do  his  murders  for  him.  And  an 
Emperor  in  white  and  steel  buckles  on  his  winged  hel 
met  summons  six  million  more  in  the  name  of  God. 

"That  is  a  tragedy  called  'Today.'  But  it  is  the  last 
act,  Karen.  Already  while  we  hold  the  stage  the  scene 
shifters  are  preparing  the  drama  called  'Tomorrow.' 

"Already  the  last  cues  are  being  given;  already  the 
company  that  held  the  stage  is  moving  slowly  toward 
the  eternal  wings.  The  stage  is  to  be  swept  clean; 
everything  must  go,  toy  swords  and  cannon,  crowns 
and  ermine,  the  old  and  battered  property  god  who 
required  a  sea  of  blood  and  tears  to  propitiate  him ;  the 

333 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


old  and  false  idol  once  worshiped  as  Honour,  and  set 
upon  a  pedestal  of  dead  bones.  All  these  must  go, 
Karen — are  already  going.  .  .  .  But — I  am  in  the  cast 
of  'Today' ;  I  may  only  watch  them  pass,  and  play  my 
part  until  the  curtain  falls." 

They  remained  silent  for  a  long  time.  The  train  had 
been  running  very  slowly.  Presently  it  stopped. 

Guild  rose  and  went  to  the  door  of  the  compartment, 
where  a  lantern  glimmered,  held  high.  Soldiers  opened 
the  door;  an  officer  of  Guard  Cuirassiers  saluted. 

"We  control  the  line  no  farther,"  he  said.  "Tele 
graphic  orders  direct  me  to  send  you  forward  with  a 
flag." 

"May  I  ask  where  we  are?"  said  Guild. 

"Not  far  from  Antwerp.  Will  you  aid  Madam  to 
descend?  Time  presses.  We  have  a  motor  car  at  your 
disposal." 

He  turned,  aided  Karen  to  the  wooden  platform, 
which  was  thronged  with  heavy  cavalrymen,  then  lifted 
out  their  luggage,  which  a  soldier  in  fatigue  cap  took. 

"There  was  also  a  box,"  said  Guild  to  the  officer  of 
Cuirassiers. 

"It  is  already  in  the  tonneau."  He  drew  a  telegram 
from  his  pocket  and  handed  it  to  Guild,  and  the  young 
man  read  it  under  the  flickering  lantern  light : 

CAPTAIN  THE  COMTE  D'YVOIR: 

I  am  told  that  I  shall  recover.  It  has  been,  so 
far,  between  us,  only  the  sword;  but  I  trust,  one 
day,  it  shall  be  the  hand.  Luck  was  against  me. 
Not  your  fault. 

334 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


I  send  to  you  and  to  my  daughter  my  respect 
and  my  good  will.  Until  a  more  auspicious  day, 
then,  and  without  rancour. 

Your  friend  the  enemy, 

VON  REITER,  Maj.-Gen'l. 

Karen,  reading  over  his  shoulder,  pressed  his  arm 
convulsively.  Tears  filled  her  eyes,  but  she  was  smiling. 

"May  we  send  a  wire?"  asked  Guild  of  the  officer. 

An  orderly  came  with  pencil  and  telegraph  blank. 
Guild  wrote: 

We  are  happy  to  learn  that  you  are  to  recover. 
Gratitude,  respect,  salute  from  me;  from  her, 
gratitude  and  love.  It  will  always  be  the  hand. 
May  the  auspicious  day  come  quickly. 

GUELDRES,  Capt.  Reserve. 

The  orderly  took  the  blank;  Guild  returned  the  sa 
lute  of  the  Cuirassier  and  followed  the  soldier  who  was 
carrying  their  luggage. 

An  automobile  stood  there,  garnished  with  two  white 
lanterns  and  a  pair  of  white  flags. 

A  moment  later  they  were  speeding  through  the  dark 
ness  out  across  a  vast  dim  plain. 

An  officer  sat  in  the  front  seat  beside  a  military 
chauffeur;  behind  them,  on  a  rumble,  was  seated  a  cav 
alryman. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  first  challenge  came;  they 
stopped;  helmeted  figures  clustered  around  them,  a  few 
words  were  whispered,  then  on  they  rolled,  slowly,  until 

335 


WHO    GOES   THEEE! 


there  came  another  challenge,  another  delay ;  and  others 
followed  in  succession  as  the  tall  phantoms  of  Uhlans 
loomed  up  around  them  in  the  night. 

Two  of  these  lancers  wheeled  and  accompanied  the 
automobile  at  a  canter.  One  of  the  riders  was  a  trum 
peter;  and  very  soon  the  car  halted  and  the  Uhlan  set 
his  trumpet  to  his  lips  and  sounded  it. 

Almost  immediately  a  distant  bugle  answered.  The 
cavalryman  on  the  rumble  stood  up,  hung  one  of  the 
lanterns  to  a  white  flag,  and  waved  it  slowly  to  and  fro. 
Then  the  mounted  Uhlan  tied  the  flag  to  his  lance-tip, 
hung  the  lantern  to  it,  and  raised  it  high  in  the  air. 
Already  the  chauffeur  had  piled  their  luggage  by  the 
roadside;  the  officer  got  out,  came  around,  and  opened 
the  door.  As  Karen  descended  he  gave  her  his  arm, 
then  saluted  and  sprang  to  his  place.  The  car  backed 
in  a  half  circle,  turned,  backed  again,  swung  clear 
around,  and  went  humming  away  into  the  darkness. 

From  the  shadowy  obscurity  ahead  came  the  tram 
ple  of  horses. 

"Halt !    Who  goes  there  ?"  cried  the  mounted  lancer. 

"Parlementaire  with  a  flag!" 

The  Uhlan  trumpeter  sounded  the  parley  again, 
then,  reversing  his  trumpet,  reined  in  and  sat  like  a 
statue,  as  half  a  dozen  cloaked  riders  walked  their 
horses  up  under  the  rays  of  the  lantern  which  dangled 
from  the  Uhlan's  lifted  lance. 

A  cavalryman  wearing  a  jaunty  Belgian  forage  cap 
leaned  from  his  saddle  and  looked  earnestly  at  Guild. 

"Who  is  this,  if  you  please?"  he  asked  curiously. 

336 


"And  last  of  all  came  Karen  with  Guild  on  ^opVbesijie.  her/'; ' 


WHO   GOES   THERE! 


"Reserve  cavalry  officer  and  his  wife,"  said  the  Uhlan 
crisply.  "Orders  are  to  deliver  them  to  you." 

The  Belgian  lieutenant  had  already  recognized  the 
uniform  of  the  Guides ;  so  had  the  other  cavalrymen ; 
and  now  they  were  hastily  dismounting  and  leading 
their  horses  forward. 

"Karen,"  said  Guild  unsteadily,  "it's  my  own  regi 
ment  !"  And  he  stepped  forward  and  took  the  lieuten 
ant's  hands  in  both  of  his.  His  features  were  working ;  he 
could  not  speak,  but  the  troopers  seemed  to  understand. 

They  gave  Karen  a  horse ;  Guild  lifted  her  to  the 
saddle,  shortened  the  stirrup,  and  set  her  sideways. 

They  offered  him  another  horse,  but  he  shook  his 
head,  flung  one  arm  over  Karen's  saddle  and  walked 
on  slowly  beside  her  stirrup. 

Behind  them  the  clatter  of  retreating  hoofs  marked 
the  return  of  the  Uhlans.  From  somewhere  in  the  dark 
ness  a  farm  cart  rumbled  up  and  cavalrymen  lifted  in 
their  luggage. 

Now,  under  the  clustered  planets  the  cart  and  the 
troopers  moved  off  over  a  wide,  smooth  road  across 
the  plain. 

And  last  of  all  came  Karen  with  Guild  on  foot  be 
side  her. 

Her  horse  stepped  slowly,  cautiously;  her  slim  hand 
lay  on  her  lover's  shoulder,  his  arm  was  around  her, 
and  his  cheek  rested  against  her  knees. 

All  the  world  was  before  them  now,  with  all  that  it 
can  ever  hold  for  the  sons  of  men — the  eternal  trinity, 
inexorable,  unchangeable — Death,  and  Life,  and  Love. 

337 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

AMICUS  DEI 

I 

Through  the  April  meadows  ambling 
Where  the  new  born  lambs  are  gamb'ling 
Cometh  May  and  vanisheth; — 
Cometh  lovely  June  a-rambling; — 
July  follows  out  of  breath 
Scattering  the  playful  swallows; 
On  her  heels  a  Shepherd  follows, 
All  dolled  up  like  Old  Man  Death. 

II 

While  he  capers,  pipesf  and  prances, 
Meadows  wither  where  he  dances; 
Suddenly  the  sunshine  ends! 
Shrinking  from  his  grinning  glances, 
Every  blossom  wilts  and  bends. 
Spectral  forests  rise  and  tower, 
Bursting  into  crimson  flower, 
And  an  iron  rain  descends. 

Ill 

Shepherd,  Shepherd,  lithely  whirling, 
To  your  screaming  pipes  a-skirling, 

338 


rAMlCUS   DEI 


Tell  me  why  you  blithely  dance? 
But  the  shrilling  tempest,  hurling 
Shrivelled  blossoms  of  Romance, 
Answered:  "Help!    For  Christ  is  dying!" 
And  I  heard  the  pipes  replying: 
"Let  the  Friend  of  God  advance!" 


IV 


Prince  of  the  Vanguard,  armed  from  head  to  heel, 

And  reassuring  God  amid  your  bayonets 

Where  the  Imperial  standard  frets 

And  the  sun  sets 

Across  five  million  marching  acolytes  in  steel, 

Red  looms  a  ruined  world  against  the  West, 

Red  lie  its  dead  beneath  your  sombre  crest, 

And  redly  drips  your  sword 

And  the  lances  of  your  horde 

Where  all  things  died,  the  loveliest  and  best. 

In  this  dead  land  there  stirs  no  pulse,  no  breath, 

For,  where  you  ride,  on  your  right  hand  rides  Death. 


V 


God's  ally,  self-ordained  to  wield  His  rod, 
Trampling  His  will  into  the  heretics, 
Leveling  their  shrines  to  heaps  of  bricks, 
How  the  red  stain  sticks 
To  the  ten  million  pair  of  boots  that  plod! 
Quickly  on  Him  your  Iron  Cross  bestow 
That  He  may  wash  you  whiter  tha*  the 

339 


WHO    GOES   THERE! 


VI 

Prince  of  the  Vanguard,  heed  no  bleeding  clod 

Left  on  the  reeking  sod  among  your  myrmidons 

Where  the  anathema  of  your  Huns 

Hurled  from  iron  guns 

Dashes  a  million  frightened  souls  to  God! 

Bright  shines  the  promise  of  the  Prince  of  Peace 

"Sheer  you  My  sheep;  garner  their  fleece/' — 

Or  was  it  "feed"  He  said? 

Too  late!     His  sheep  are  dead. 

All  things  must  die,  and  even  Death  shall  cease. 

Then  the  Almighty  on  His  throne  may  nod 

Unvexed  by  martyrs  importuning  God. 


THE    END 

(1) 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


25Sep5ttU 
SEtfTONJLL 

JUN  1 9  1898 

U.C.  BERKELEY 


FN 


LD  21-100m-ll,'49(B7146sl6)476 


YB  73587 


* 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 


